


Crossing Boundaries

by Nariko_d



Series: Crossing Boundaries [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Infidelity, M/M, References to forced sodomy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 71,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nariko_d/pseuds/Nariko_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after serving time for a crime he didn't commit, Castiel is finally living a quiet and normal life with his husband, Balthazar. His life, though, is thrown for a loop when he opens the door one day to find his ex-cellmate, Dean Winchester, standing on his doorstep. As he becomes closer again to the man who sheltered him from the horrors of prison, his marriage starts to suffer, and Castiel finds himself struggling to keep Dean in his life without risking his husband.</p>
<p>But in the process, Castiel starts to learn a few things about what he really wants in life, and realizes the choices he has to make to truly be happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in January 2013, and what was supposed to be a planned 10,000 word fic blossomed into this. It took signing up for Big Bang that I eventually dropped out of to actually finish it, and while it isn't perfect, I'm ready to show the world what's been sitting on my computer for months.
> 
> I'd like to thank pinkyapples for beta-ing this for me. She helped put a lot of my worries to rest about this fic. Any mistakes found are my own, since I just had tweak it one last time before posting.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The last thing Castiel expected to see was Dean Winchester standing on his doorstep, with his booted feet planted right on top of Castiel’s ‘Welcome Home’ doormat.

Castiel’s polite smile disappeared, his greeting frozen on his tongue and eyes going wide in astonishment. His fingers clenched around the golden, smooth knob of the door and he had to blink a couple of times just to make sure that his eyes weren’t deceiving him, because the last time he had seen Dean had been three years ago, with Dean standing on the opposite side of a high metal fence as Castiel walked away.

Dean didn’t dissipate into thin air, though. He was still there, relaxed in a plaid button-down shirt and faded blue jeans. He had never seen Dean in civilian clothing other than what he had seen in some old photographs Dean had owned, and Castiel had to resist the urge to reach out and touch for physical confirmation that Dean truly was standing in front of him, smiling that same cocky smile Castiel never really forgot.

“Dean?” Castiel finally managed to say after a few minutes of stupefied silence. 

Dean’s smile widened and he shifted, placing his forearm against the doorway and hitching out his left hip. He was the epitome of casualness and suave, and heat stirred low in Castiel’s belly. “Hey, Cas.”

The greeting was spoken in a low and slightly rough timbre, and it sent tingles across his skin. He suppressed a shiver and took a breath to steady himself, even as his eyes greedily ran up and down Dean’s body.

Realizing what he was doing, he quickly tore his eyes away from Dean’s broad chest. He took a quick moment to gain control of himself, trying to wrestle his body back under control.

When he felt more settled and better prepared, he looked at Dean again. Making eye contact, he flushed in embarrassment, feeling the heat spread across his cheeks. Dean was looking right back at him, his gaze knowing. Obviously, Castiel hadn’t done a very good job in hiding the effect Dean had on him. “When did you get out?”

“Got paroled a couple of months ago for good behavior.” The skin at the corners of his eyes tightened a little. “Kind of thought you’d know that. It was on the news and everything.”

Castiel kept his expression blank, unwilling to show even a hint of a reaction to Dean’s words, because while he had read in the newspaper that Dean had been up for parole, he had decided not to follow the story. “I don’t keep up with the news,” he lied. “I see enough crime at work.”

Dean drummed his fingers on the wood paneling of the doorway. “Guess this means you got out of the accountant business.”

“Paralegal,” Castiel confirmed with only the slightest hesitation. 

“Really?” Dean’s tone was colored with surprise. “Kind of a leap from crunching numbers to dealing with the law.” He huffed out a brief chuckle. “But I guess spending a couple of years in prison is enough incentive for a life-changing career like that.”

“Yeah,” Castiel said softly. 

Dean glanced over Castiel’s shoulder and pushed away from the doorway. “Are you going to invite me in or leave me out here sweating in the heat?”

Castiel’s mind blanked a little at the words ‘sweating’ and ‘heat’. His mouth abruptly lost all moisture, becoming as dry as a desert as he was bombarded by images of sweaty, entangled limbs and hot urgent kisses exchanged against a prison cell wall. His cock hardened; he could feel it begin pressing against the fabric of his jeans, and Castiel gripped the knob of the door almost painfully.

With his brain whirling with passionate memories and his cock becoming as erect as it could in his pants, he was too off-balanced to give Dean a proper response, which may be the reason why he blurted, “I’m married.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what reaction he was expecting, but all he got was a slight furrowing of the eyebrows and a quirk of Dean’s lips. He looked a little confused, but not as surprised as Castiel had thought he would be. “Congratulations,” Dean drawled. “Kind of figured that out when I saw that golden band on your left hand.” Castiel glanced down at said hand, the sun glinting off the metal. Well, that certainly explained Dean’s lack of surprise. “Am I coming in or not?” Dean added.

He wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, and even considered a way to reject Dean’s request. He bit his bottom lip and glanced away, trying to come up with the words to send him away, because he was a little disturbed by his own body’s reaction to a man he hadn’t seen in three years. It wasn’t like this was the first time he found another man attractive in the two years since he married Balthazar, but usually, whenever he saw an attractive man, all he garnered was an appreciative glance. What he was experiencing now—his cock half-hard, his hands sweaty, that low tightening in the gut—was too much.

“I can go,” Dean said, and Castiel jerked his eyes up from the floor. Dean pushed away from the doorframe and tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. He didn’t look at all bothered by Castiel’s obvious hesitance at inviting him inside. If anything, his eyes showed understanding. “I was just dropping by to say hi, but if you don’t want me here, that’s perfectly all right.”

Dean took a step back, and all uncertainty and hesitance vanished at the possibility of Dean leaving. He didn’t know why, but the idea of watching Dean walk away put him in a panic.

“No, wait.” Dean paused, eyebrows raised in curiosity and expression questioning. Castiel swallowed nervously. “Come in.” He was stepping aside before he could overthink his actions.

Dean smiled wide, and the sight of it had Castiel’s heart stuttering. Dean stepped inside and walked passed him, and when their hands briefly touched it was like an electric wire made contact with his skin, making his body light up.

He closed the door and tried to keep his breathing steady. He had to get himself together. 

Awkwardly rooted to the spot in front of the door, Castiel watched Dean veer into the living room on his right. 

“Nice place,” Dean commented, walking around the large room, head moving left and right while his fingers brushed across random items.

Castiel glanced at the antiques and paintings that decorated the shelves and walls. “Thank you,” he murmured, finally getting his feet to move. He didn’t get far, though, stopping right at the large entryway that led into the living room. 

Dean whistled in appreciation, stopping momentarily at the fifty-inch plasma screen that hung over the fireplace. “Living large,” Dean added, taking another sweep around the room. He picked up a small golden statue. “Very large.”

“It’s mostly Balthazar’s decorating.” Other than the television, everything in the room was of Balthazar’s choosing. They had bought the house prior to Castiel’s arrest, and Balthazar had furnished the common areas while Castiel had been in prison. Looking at it through Dean’s eyes, Castiel could see how sterile it looked. There were no scattered magazines on the glass coffee table, not a speck of dust on the mahogany wood bookcase, no dirty mugs sitting on side tables or misplaced figurines on the floor. There wasn’t even a single faded stain on the velvet rug underneath the couch and coffee table. Everything was neat and tidy, just the way Balthazar liked it. “The plasma television is mine,” he offered. It was one of few things Balthazar had chosen among Castiel’s things to add to the room.

“I see.” Dean gave him a look, and Castiel frowned at his inability to decipher it. “So, Balthazar,” Dean said, scratching the back of his head. “Guess that relationship wasn’t as dead as we thought.”

Castiel shifted in discomfort. He looked away, feeling a wave of shame swallow him up. He was unable to find any words to respond to that comment, so he opted for silence. He heard Dean moving again, and when he looked back he found Dean walking towards the sofa. He threw himself on it, sprawling out his limbs as he got comfortable. Most visitors tended to sit on the couch gingerly, somehow knowing that it was worth a lot of money and deciding that it should be treated with delicate care. Dean either didn’t realize it or didn’t give a rat’s ass about the couch’s worth. It was most likely the latter. A couch was a couch to him; that was the kind of mindset Dean had. It was kind of refreshing to see someone treat a couch like the piece of furniture it was and actually use it, and not like some kind of antique on display.

Dean left plenty of room next to him for Castiel to sit. He stayed where he was, keeping a safe distance between them.

They stared at each other for a couple of minutes, and Castiel could feel the tension rising between them. It was making his palms sweat more than they already were, and he rubbed them against the side of his jeans. Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly, expression thoughtful. Eventually, Dean broke their staring contest and glanced at his right. He made a sound of surprise, reaching out and grabbing the wedding photo of him and Balthazar from the side table. “When?

Castiel got momentarily distracted by Dean’s fingers handling the picture frame. It made him a little slow in understanding Dean’s question. “When what?”

“When did you get hitched?”

“Two years ago in Iowa.” He remembered his wedding day clearly, from the white rose petals the flower girl tossed walking down the aisle to the loud applause when he and Balthazar had their first official kiss as husband and husband. The pictures that scattered their home were proof of that day, and Castiel had smiled and kissed and laughed, exuding joy and happiness. The pictures, however, didn’t show the way Castiel’s stomach had twisted and writhed in anxiety, or how doubts had plagued his mind, or the unwavering feeling of wrongness that had followed him around from that day and throughout his honeymoon. 

That was something he kept to himself, though. 

“Our wedding anniversary was last month,” he said.

“Did he take you anywhere?” Dean put back the picture frame.

“Bermuda. We were there for a week.”

“That’s why you’re so tanned.” Dean smiled slightly, eyes becoming half-lidded as he looked Castiel over from head to toe slowly. It made Castiel self-conscious about the torn jeans and stained white shirt he wore. It wasn’t like he had been expecting company or anything. “Looks good on you.”

Castiel clenched his hands, trying not to let Dean’s words or heated gaze affect him. Or at least try not to let it affect him more than he already was, and he was starting to regret inviting Dean inside. He wasn’t even sure what had possessed him to welcome him into his home, and it unnerved him how one look from Dean was making him react like a horny teenager. “Why are you here?” he finally demanded.

“I thought I had an open invitation,” Dean murmured, eyes wandering to a couple of statuettes that decorated the coffee table. “In fact, I was promised an address so I could visit you once I was out.” He leaned forward and grabbed a small statue of Zeus. He played with it, and Castiel bit back the order to put it down. Balthazar would be pissed if that thing broke; it was one of his favorites. Even Castiel didn’t touch it without considering its value and fragility. “I guess the letter with that info got lost in the mail, huh?” Dean looked at him again. “Like all your other letters I thought I was going to get.”

Guilt flooded through him at the reminder of his promise to keep in touch—a promise he had broken. “Yeah,” he whispered, taking Dean’s offered lie.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m great at finding people.” Dean put Zeus down on the couch and stood up. When Dean began to approach him, Castiel tensed. Dean was completely focused on him, his strides long and even, and Castiel felt like a deer frozen in terror at the sight of an oncoming predator, his limbs locking and preventing him from backing away to maintain the distance between them. “Nearly two years in that place with you, and you really think I’d forget the one person who actually made that hellhole bearable?” 

Castiel’s eyes widened and Dean’s words were enough to get his body moving. His legs veered sideways, trying to make sure Dean didn’t get too close. Dean merely followed, though, and Castiel stumbled into the wall next to a large bookcase. Even then, Dean didn’t stop moving, not until he was at least a foot in front of him, and Castiel pressed back against the wall.

Castiel inhaled deeply at their closeness. He froze when Dean carefully stretched out an arm, unsure of what his intentions were. Dean’s fingers made contact with Castiel’s cheek, fingers brushing against his skin gently. It was the first time in three years that he felt Dean’s hands on him, and he couldn’t help shuddering. The effect was greater than that single jolt he had felt mere minutes earlier when their hands briefly touched. This was something _more_ , heat that had been simmering inside of him now burning into an inferno. His fingers twitched, itching to touch Dean in return, and his cock painfully pushed against his pants, straining for relief. It made him squirm.

Dean leaned forward, face moving closer, and Castiel quickly turned his head away, eyes squeezing shut. This time, it was a pair of lips that brushed his cheek. “You were the only thing that kept me going even after you got out, Cas,” Dean whispered against his skin. “You were the one thing I was looking forward to seeing again these past few years.”

Throat parched and mouth dry, Castiel croaked, “You shouldn’t say that.”

“Still soft, angel,” Dean murmured, ignoring him as his lips ran across Castiel’s cheekbone. He pulled away and cupped Castiel’s chin, urging him to turn his head. Castiel resisted, but the tug was too strong and once his head was turned, calloused hands cupped his face. 

He waited for Dean’s next move, but seconds ticked by with nothing happening. He opened his eyes slowly, and he gasped softly, caught off-guard by how close Dean was. His face was just inches away. He could see his own reflection in Dean’s green orbs, and the longer he looked into them the more he could see the dark shadows hidden within them—shadows Castiel was sure lurked in his own eyes. 

“I wish you waited for me, angel,” Dean said softly.

“I’m not an angel,” Castiel denied, never taking his eyes away from Dean and refusing to acknowledge the rest of Dean’s words, because doing so would only make the guilt worse. “You know I’m not.”

“You’re my pretty little angel.” Dean rubbed their noses together. “Obedient and ready to serve me.”

Oh, god. Those words shouldn’t affect him. He should be insulted and furious at Dean’s forwardness, at his completely inappropriate comments, but it made him flush instead, the room suddenly going from uncomfortably warm to very hot. His skin felt tight, making him unable to stay still. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, and his breath came out in choppy bursts. He wanted to do something, but he wasn’t sure what, and his heart was beating so fast he wondered if Dean could hear it. Maybe he could. Maybe that was why he was smiling a little.

“Dean . . .” He trailed off, stunned into silence when Dean slithered an arm around his waist, pulling him forward and effectively making their pelvises brush against each other. He felt Dean’s hardness in his jeans, pressing against his own clothed erection, and it evoked images of that cock driving deep and hard into his body.

He couldn’t help but moan slightly, all rationality leaving him at Dean’s proximity. With every breath he took, he inhaled Dean’s scent, and it was heady and all _male_. 

“Yes, Cas?” Dean asked teasingly.

Confused by Dean’s question, he struggled to speak. “What?” 

“You said my name. I’m guess you wanted to tell me something.”

Castiel swallowed, eyes focusing on Dean’s lips when the man licked them. Slowly. “I . . .”

He shook his head. He couldn’t think with Dean so close and he desperately needed space. He brought his hands up, pressing them against Dean’s chest to push him back. His hands froze, however, when he felt Dean’s hard, muscled chest. The fingers of one hand curled, digging into Dean’s clothes and essentially keeping him in place. His other hand ran down Dean’s chest and stomach, feeling the firmness hidden beneath the fabric.

Dean’s body trembled, and Castiel jerked his head up. Dean was watching him intently, and Castiel returned his stare. They didn’t look away even as Dean grabbed the hand Castiel still had on his chest and guided it up and on his shoulder, resulting in Castiel being pulled even closer against Dean’s body. His thumb brushed against the cross tattoo on Dean’s neck, the inked shape accompanied by a bloodied snake constricting it. Castiel wanted to lean in and kiss it like he had done in the past. 

He was leaning forward to do just that, the temptation too strong for him to resist, but something glinted, catching his eye and dragging his attention away from Dean’s tattoo. The glint was coming from his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

His wedding ring.

The haze he was in shattered, and with a startled sound he jerked back. “I’m married,” he said determinedly, placing both hands on Dean’s chest again so he could push him away. It wasn’t easy, not when Dean’s arm was still wrapped around his waist and the wall was at his back. He was essentially trapped, and Dean was just _too close._

“I know,” Dean acknowledged, not at all bothered by Castiel’s reemerged resistance. Dean kissed his forehead instead. 

Castiel swallowed, trying to ignore the way Dean’s lips touching his skin made him shake. “I made a vow to honor him.”

“I’m sure you did.” Dean moved on and kissed his eyelids, which fluttered. 

Castiel’s breath hitched. “He loves me.” His hands were no longer pushing, and he wondered when he stopped trying to shove Dean back—and why he wasn’t doing anything about it.

“Can’t blame him.” Dean kissed his left cheek, moving closer and destroying whatever little distance Castiel had managed to put between them. They were chest to chest, his hands trapped between them. “He’d be crazy not to love you.” 

Castiel tilted his head, but he wasn’t sure if the movement was to get away from Dean or help him access more skin. Dean took advantage of it anyway, running his lips down his jawbone and onto his neck. “He’d do anything for me,” he whispered.

Dean spent a few seconds kissing and nipping at his neck. “So would I.” Dean cupped the side of his face and moved his head up. He licked the hollow of his throat. “I told you that, remember? That I’d do anything for you if you let me.”

Castiel shut the door against that memory and focused on Balthazar. “He doesn’t deserve to be hurt.” He turned his head and moved back a bit. Dean allowed the space, and they stared at each other. It wasn’t much better, considering that Dean’s lips only had to cross a few inches to press against his own. “He doesn’t deserve to be betrayed like this after everything he did for me.”

“You’re not giving me a good reason to stop, Cas.”

“I gave you plenty,” he responded weakly. Dean’s pupils had taken over the green color and his cheeks were reddish, two signs of an aroused man. He felt the third sign nudging against his pelvis. “What other reason do you need?”

“Like you being in love with him.”

Before Castiel could retort, Dean surged forward and kissed him. Castiel gasped in surprise, and Dean didn’t waste the opportunity his open mouth offered. His tongue slid inside and any desire to fight left him, all thoughts vanishing as he moaned softly around Dean’s tongue, instinctively responding and kissing back. He melted against the other man, arms wrapping around Dean’s neck, and he grunted against Dean’s mouth when he was pushed against the wall. 

Dean grabbed Castiel’s leg and hitched it up against his hip, the new position allowing him to press and grind against his cock, which ached and throbbed for release. 

He made a sound of distress when Dean broke away. “You taste better than I remember, baby,” Dean said, breathing harshly. Castiel took in his swollen lips, red and puffy. Pride thrummed through him. He caused that, and it was such a good look on Dean. 

Dean bit Castiel’s bottom lip before taking his mouth again, plundering it and establishing his dominance. Not that Castiel had any desire to fight him over it. He went along for the ride. He rode the wave of raw lust and heavy desire that had him submitting to Dean’s ministrations, and something inside of him purred in satisfaction at how Dean took control. The way he pushed and pulled and took Castiel’s body like he owned it. He left Castiel no choice but to accept his tongue inside his mouth, Dean’s hand on Castiel’s thigh preventing him from lowering his leg, and Castiel loved it. He felt more alive and free in this one moment than he ever had having sex with Balthazar.

 _Balthazar_.

Abruptly, his mind snapped back into reality. Realizing what he was doing—what he was _allowing_ to happen—had him frantically tearing his mouth away. “No!” he exclaimed, and he shoved Dean back as hard as he could. 

Dean stumbled back in surprise, nearly tripping over his own feet before he gained his balance. He blinked and shook his head as though he was trying to clear it. His brows were furrowed, confusion now written all over his face. The confusion hardly erased the hunger that showed on his face. “Cas?” he questioned roughly. 

Castiel leaned against the wall and placed his hand on his chest, trying to regulate his breathing back to normal and calm his racing heart. He lifted his other hand to touch his face, feeling the heat radiating off his flushed skin. He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist and let his head fall back, hearing it thud against the wall. 

Remorse filled him. He couldn’t help but think at how upset Balthazar would be if he knew what just happened. He would be so furious and hurt. Even if Dean had been the one to instigate it, that didn’t explain Castiel’s response to it. He not only accepted Dean’s kiss, he responded and let it go on for what had to be several minutes. He was no innocent victim in all this. He had been an active participant, and that, more than anything, was what made him feel ashamed.

“That should not have happened,” he muttered.

Dean took a step closer. “Cas—”

Castiel lifted a hand and glared at him. “I’m married, damn it. You shouldn’t have— _I_ certainly shouldn’t have—” He gritted his teeth as he tried to verbalize the jumble of emotions running through him. “That was wrong, and we both know it.”

Dean narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “Didn’t feel wrong. Felt kind of right,” he murmured. “Kind of how it felt right when we slept together in prison.”

“Don’t throw that in my face,” he snapped, more guilt flooding him at that blatant reminder of his infidelity when Balthazar had just been his boyfriend and not his husband.

“Does he know? Is hubby aware that you weren’t exactly celibate those two years?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Castiel said sharply, wanting to Dean to shut up. “He doesn’t know because he doesn’t have to know.” He clenched his hands and seized control of the conversation. He faced Dean head on, and spoke clearly so that Dean didn’t mistake his words. “You cannot come in here and expect things to be the same like they were before.” Dean blinked, and his expression became blank. Castiel pressed on. “What we had in prison had been twisted and desperate. I’m not proud of what I did, but I made my peace with my choices, as bad as they were, and all of that is in the past where it belongs. I moved on. I have a normal life now and a wonderful husband. I have everything I wanted and I won’t let you come here and ruin that for some kind of fling.” He took a deep breath and lifted his chin high. “I’m not your bitch anymore, Dean.”

It was that last sentence that pulled a reaction out of Dean. His eyes flashed, though Castiel couldn’t quite catch the emotion before it vanished. “My bitch,” Dean repeated, sounding angry and disbelieving all at once. “Is that really what you think you were to me?”

Castiel scoffed. “You called me that countless of times, Dean. What else am I supposed to think?”

Dean gaped, looking very much surprised. Castiel’s anger dampened as he tried to figure out the confusing expressions and reactions Dean had to Castiel’s words. After a long moment, Dean huffed and ran a hand down his face. He pivoted and presented Castiel his back. Automatically, Castiel’s eyes went down to Dean’s ass, the jeans the man wore hugging it nicely and showing off how firm and high it was. Castiel ogled for a few seconds until he realized what he was doing. He quickly looked away and scolded himself. It he could, he would have kicked his own ass. 

He was still in the process of calling himself all kinds of fool when Dean turned around again. He was calmer, body loose and relaxed. “Okay,” he said evenly

Castiel stared. “Okay?” He wasn’t sure what that meant. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Okay, what?”

Dean sighed, and he looked at Castiel fondly. “You have a life,” he acknowledged. “A good one. I can see it. You deserve it, too.” He smiled ruefully. “And you’re right. I really did have no right coming here and expecting us to fool around like we used to. You clearly got your life together, and I don’t want to ruin that. I’m not going to get in the way of you being happy.” He paused and cleared his throat. “You _are_ happy, right? With him?”

“What kind of question is that?” When Dean continued to stare expectantly, Castiel rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m happy.”

Dean took a moment to answer. “Good.” His eyes visibly softened. “You deserve to be happy.” He rubbed the side of his jeans and glanced away momentarily. “I’m sorry, Cas. I was a dick and I shouldn’t have forced myself on you.”

Castiel shifted his weight from one foot to another as he considered Dean’s words. Heaving his own sigh, he said, “You didn’t force yourself on me. As much as I hate to admit it, I let it happen.” Castiel scratched his jaw, feeling a little awkward. “It’s as much my fault as it is yours.”

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “Then let me apologize for starting it. We can’t share blame on that front.”

“No, we can’t,” Castiel murmured, cracking a smile despite himself. He studied Dean. He seemed sincere, and he had to take a minute to really think Dean’s apology over, because it was one thing for Dean to make a move without knowledge of Castiel’s marital status. It was another for him to know about his marriage and make a move anyway.

“Sometimes I forget that society works differently out here,” Dean stated. He grimaced. “Sounds like an excuse, but it’s the truth, you know?”

“I do know.” He knew firsthand how hard it was to walk away from a controlled, structured world and enter a world that played with a different set of rules. 

“I honestly just wanted to say hi, but I just—I saw you and it took me back . . .” Dean cleared his throat. “Not that it excuses my behavior or anything.” He looked at Castiel worriedly. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I don’t.” He was surprised to realize that it was the truth. He should hate him a little for his actions, but he didn’t. He was sympathetic, knowing that Dean wasn’t going through the easiest of transitions. Sometimes that led to unwise decisions. That was another thing Castiel knew firsthand. He was also no longer angry. “And I accept your apology.”

Looking relieved, Dean smiled. “Thanks.” He lifted his wrist, looking at his watch. “I should get going. I have a job to get back to, and my lunch hour is pretty much over.”

“Job?” Castiel asked, surprised. It wasn’t often that ex-convicts out on parole got jobs after only being out for a few months. 

“Yeah. Remember when I told you about Bobby Singer?” Castiel nodded. Dean had spoken often of Bobby, a man who had raised him after his real father passed away when Dean had been young. “He’s letting me work at his auto shop as a mechanic. He’s even letting me stay at his place for a while.”

“The salvage yard?”

“Yeah.” Dean grinned, looking pleased that he remembered. “I even get to restore classic cars on commission, and on my off-hours Bobby lets me use parts from junk cars to help restore my baby.

Castiel bit back a smile. Dean had constantly referred to his ‘baby’ while in prison, an Impala that had suffered severe damage during a police chase that had inevitably led to Dean’s arrest. “That’s good, Dean. Real good.” And he meant it. Despite what just happened, he didn’t wish Dean ill-will. After everything Dean had gone through, he also deserved to be happy.

“Yeah.” Dean’s expression became sheepish and he lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. “What would make it even better is if you’d have lunch with me.” Castiel’s eyes widened in alarm, and Dean must have taken notice because he quickly added, “As friends. Just as friends.”

“Dean—” Castiel started, ready to reject his request.

“I don’t have many friends, and the few I do are still in the joint. I can’t really talk to anybody who’ll understand what we went through.”

“What about Bobby? You told me he did some time.”

“Yeah, for petty theft, and he served in a county jail, not a state prison like us. It isn’t quite the same.”

Castiel chewed his bottom lip. “I don’t know, Dean. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Probably,” Dean agreed, “but it’s hard being out, harder than I imagined. Everything is different, and there are new things out there that are a lot harder to understand and use than it looked like on TV.” Dean swallowed, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t get a chance to grow up among normal people. I pretty much grew up around murderers and rapists. That’s the only crowd I know, and I can’t even have a normal conversation with the cashier at the gas station near Bobby’s place.” He sighed and hunched a little. It made him look small and defeated, and it tugged at Castiel’s heart strings. “I completely get it if you don’t want to, and I won’t push it, but I really just want to sit down with someone who gets it, okay? Who gets _me_.”

Dean sounded so sincere and desperate that it had Castiel wavering, uncertain of what he should do. On one hand, going out for lunch with a man who he screwed around with in prison and just made out with was probably the stupidest thing he could do. It would only take him down a road that shouldn’t be traveled. On the other hand, he knew where Dean was coming from. Castiel had only spent two years in prison, and that was enough time to adjust to the prison lifestyle where everything was done on a strict schedule. An hour in the recreation room, two hours in the outdoor yard, breakfast at seven, dinner at six-thirty, lights out by nine. Prisoners followed a different set of rules, and not all of them came from the warden. 

Dean had been in prison for twenty-odd years, and it was just like he said. He grew up with rapists and murderers as his neighbors. Conversations wouldn’t exactly go smoothly when most of Dean’s conversations for the past several years revolved around threats to keep arrogant inmates in line. 

“Please, Cas,” Dean asked softly. “Just one lunch. That’s all.”

It was such a bad idea, he knew it was, but Dean looked so earnest that Castiel just couldn’t find it in him to reject him. Reluctantly, and with a bit of unease, he said, “I’m free this Saturday.”

Dean beamed, and the feeling of unease diminished at the sight of his elation. In fact, it made Castiel glad that he could do this for him. After everything Dean had done for him, he could tolerate one meal with the man. 

“Me, too,” Dean said, still beaming. “Ever been to Temples?” Castiel shook his head, and Dean took out his phone. “It’s a diner on green street and fifth. We could meet up there, if you want.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Castiel agreed. He’ll Google the place later and get the address.

“Give me your number.”

Castiel rattled off his phone number, and Dean’s thumbs tapped on his phone’s screen. “All right, just sent you a text.” Dean glanced at his watch. It was a basic black watch, meant to be nothing more than functional, and it suited Dean. Functional and straightforward. “Let me know what time works for you, okay?” Dean said as he put away his phone. He started heading towards the door.

“Of course. I’ll text you later tonight.”

Dean opened the door and gave Castiel a wide smile. “Catch you later, angel.”

Castiel returned his smile a little hesitantly and took hold of the door once Dean walked out. He watched him as he walked down the pathway and approached a beat up Honda Civic parked on the street. Dean gave him one last wave before getting inside and driving off, and only after his taillights were no longer visible did Castiel close the door. 

He pressed his forehead against the cool wood and sighed, feeling oddly drained. Now that Dean was gone and he wasn’t face with Dean’s imploring words or his happy reactions, Castiel was left with his thoughts, and it didn’t take long for doubts to creep in.

What the hell was he thinking, agreeing to a luncheon with a man he had a past with? Seeing Dean would threaten the life he had built, and potentially expose all the secrets Castiel had safely kept. Sleeping with Dean was just one of them, and he wasn’t even sure if that was the worst one.

Becoming Dean’s lover had been a means to an end after being forced to perform oral sex on several inmates who had wanted to take advantage of the ‘fag.’ He had realized that the only way to avoid further assaults was to sleep with another inmate who would protect him, and Castiel had endured being fucked by three other men—all of whom had attempted to use Castiel as monetary value for some kind of commodity—before he had approached Dean. 

As far as Balthazar was aware, Castiel hadn’t been touched during the years he had been locked up. He was unaware of the forced sodomy or the one time he had almost been gang raped, and Castiel had ensured it stayed that way, unwilling to ruin Balthazar’s ignorant bliss concerning Castiel’s ordeal. The only person other than Dean who knew about everything he went through was the therapist Balthazar had forced him to see. 

Balthazar might understand that Castiel had needed to do what he could to protect himself from getting raped, but Castiel doubted his husband would be as understanding if he were to ever learn that Castiel’s arrangement with Dean had turned into something much more than that. So much more. 

With a shaky sigh, he pushed away from the door and walked into the living room. He grabbed his phone and sat on the couch, tapping the screen and finding Dean’s text waiting for him. He had expected to see it blank or find a redundant ‘this is my number.’ He found something else entirely.

**From Dean: I wouldn’t mind being friends.**

Friends with Dean Winchester. Was that even possible after everything they’ve shared? Their history was as intimate as it was unique, and he wondered if two ex-lovers could truly ever be friends. 

Another text from Dean showed up on his phone. **From Dean:** **Looking forward to seeing you again, angel.**

“Angel,” he murmured. That had always been Dean’s preferred choice of endearments whenever he wanted to show affection. Dean had often called him bitch in front of other inmates, but whenever they were alone, Dean would affectionately call him angel. It had never failed to make him melt.

As uncertain as he was about the whole thing, hearing that nickname on Dean’s lips again did stir fond memories. Their affair hadn’t always been about sex or protection. They had talked and laughed and gotten to know each other. They _had_ been friends as well as lovers.

He tapped the bottom of his phone a few times before responding. **To Dean:** **Me, too.**

Later, as he and Balthazar were eating dinner of spaghetti and meatballs, Castiel said, “I might not be able to go to Eliza’s birthday party on Saturday.” He said it as casually as possible to hide his nervousness.

Balthazar looked up from his plate. “What? Why?”

“An old friend came by. He sort of hit a rough patch in his life, and he has no one else in this city to help him out. I said we’d have lunch.”

Balthazar sighed. “We already said we’re going.”

“Technically, you said that. I never agreed to go.” He ate a piece of his garlic bread. He might have lied to Dean about being free on Saturday, but it was better to get the lunch over with. Besides, if he was really honest, he didn’t really feel like going to the party anyway. “Eliza is more your friend than mine, and I won’t really know anyone at the party. You don’t need me there.”

“I may not need you there, but I _want_ you there.” Balthazar placed his fork down and sat back in his chair. It creaked when he shifted. He was frowning deeply, very much displeased. “Who is this friend, anyway?”

Castiel took a moment to figure out how to answer that question without giving too much away. “His name is Dean. We used to work together.” It was technically true. They had both worked at the prison library.

“Where? Back in Arizona?”

Castiel cleared his throat. “Yes.” He focused on his plate to avoid eye contact, hoping that Balthazar wouldn’t push for more information. He didn’t want to give too many details. Not only did he want to avoid telling outright lies, he also didn’t want to dig a hole for himself by giving details that might conflict with things Balthazar already knew about him and his friends—both present and past—especially when he and Balthazar had met in Arizona while both men were attending the same college.

“How come I never heard of him?” Balthazar asked.

“This was before I met you.” Balthazar had once told him that he had tics when he lied and obviously didn’t bother telling him what they were. So Castiel strove to lie as little as possible, and to keep any necessary fibbing simple. “I didn’t think I’d ever see him again,” he said honestly, and because he was speaking the truth, he braved looking into Balthazar’s eyes again. “He wants us to catch up, you know. Maybe be friends again.”

“Show him around the city?” 

“He actually grew up in Lawrence—” Castiel quickly brought his glass of water to his mouth to hide his grimace, already knowing what Balthazar was going to ask.

“Why was he in Arizona, then?”

He said the first thing that came to mind. “Girlfriend.” Why he couldn’t have said that Dean was a former classmate was beyond him, but apparently his brain had decided that saying girlfriend was the better option.

And it might have been right. Balthazar’s suspicious frown disappeared, eyes softening in understanding. “Followed her there, huh?” Balthazar smiled slightly, and Castiel couldn’t help the quirk of his own lips, knowing that Balthazar was remembering his own decision to follow Castiel to Kansas when a job opportunity had landed on his lap. “Guess it didn’t work out as well for him than it did for us, if he’s back in town.”

Castiel ducked his head, avoiding eye contact again. “Yeah.” 

Balthazar sighed heavily. “You really don’t want to go to the party?”

He grabbed his fork, intending to grab a forkful of his meal, but he ended up poking around a meatball instead. “Not really,” he replied honestly. “Like I said, I wouldn’t really know anyone there. They’re more your friends than mine.”

“They’d be your friends, too, if you came out with us more. It’s not my fault you always decline.”

Balthazar might be right on that fact, but Castiel wasn’t into parties in general. He was more of an introvert, preferring his quiet time and hanging out with only a few friends as opposed to going out and dealing with a large crowd. 

He reached across the table and grabbed Balthazar’s hand. “Come on. You’ll have more fun without me there, and you know it.”

Balthazar pulled a face, mouth twisting. He huffed exasperatedly. “Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes when Castiel smiled widely. “You’re off the hook.”

Castiel squeezed Balthazar’s hand. “Did I ever tell you you’re the best husband anyone can ask for?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Balthazar puffed out his chest, exuding annoyance, but Castiel knew it wasn’t genuine. “You owe me, I do hope you realize that.”

Castiel nodded, putting on a straight and serious face. “Yes, sir.” Balthazar chuckled, as he intended.

Castiel returned to his meal, humming in relief now that he had Balthazar’s permission to skip the party and join Dean for lunch, but it slowly began to seep away as he thought about seeing Dean again. He was anxious about the luncheon, and his stomach began to twist in knots as he thought about how he had lied to his husband to have lunch with an ex-lover who was also an ex-convict.

He wondered if maybe there was a blue moon on the horizon, otherwise there was no explanation as to why he made certain choices regarding Dean. Inviting him inside? Agreeing to get together after their impromptu make-out session? Lying to Balthazar?

Any smart and sensible man would have sent Dean packing, but Castiel intelligence had always had the habit of vanishing whenever he was in Dean’s presence. Obviously, nothing had changed on that front. 

He finished his pasta, and gulped down the rest of his water to help lighten the heavy weight of lead that sat in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t wait to get the lunch over with, because the sooner it was over, the sooner he could walk away and never worry about seeing Dean again. 

**

Castiel walked into the diner with the firm resolve of giving Dean no more than two hours of his time. It was long enough to be polite, and they could part ways amicably. If Dean tried to set up another luncheon, Castiel would decline. He just had to sit down, eat the food, make small talk, and then leave. Easy. He could do it.

The diner wasn’t packed, with most red booths open and a few stools at the counter empty. He found Dean easily where he sat in a corner booth that was towards the back and away from the rest of the patrons eating at the diner. He was wearing a tee-shirt that exposed his arms, putting his tattoos on display, and it wasn’t just one or two. He had tattoo sleeves, every single inch of skin on his arms covered by black and colors, images merging together and Latin terms sprinkled throughout. He also knew that his own name, written in Enochian, was among the words and phrases that decorated Dean’s tattoos.

Castiel hesitated at the entrance, unhappy with Dean’s choice of booth. It seemed a little too private for Castiel’s tastes. He wondered if Dean would be okay with moving to a more open area.

After a moment, he snorted and shook his head. Was he really going to freak out over sitting at a booth that wasn’t near a window? That only made it seem like he was trying too hard to prove a point. What that point was, he didn’t know, which made the entire thing even more ridiculous.

Waving away an approaching host, he walked towards the booth and slid into it, sitting across from Dean.

Dean looked up from the laminated menu he had been looking at. He grinned wide. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel removed his jacket and set it aside on the booth seat. He moved around to get more comfortable, the cushioned booth squeaking with his movements. “Have you been here long?”

“Not too long. Just enough time to figure out what I’m getting.” He handed the menu over, and Castiel grabbed it, murmuring his thanks.

He flipped through it until he found the lunch entrees. “Let me guess,” he said after glancing over the offerings. “You’re getting the bacon cheeseburger.”

Dean laughed, delighted. “That obvious?”

“How many times did you have someone sneak you a bacon cheeseburger?” Castiel glanced up and gave Dean a knowing look. “It’s your favorite thing to eat.”

“Sure is,” Dean said, leaning back and stretching his arms high above his head. It made his black tee-shirt stretch across his chest, and Castiel averted his eyes. 

He focused on the menu, trying to decide what to get that wouldn’t be too difficult to swallow. The ball of anxiety he had since he woke up this morning wasn’t allowing him much of an appetite. Absently, he heard the familiar words of an Elvis Presley song coming from the speakers built into the ceiling above their heads. He bobbed his head to it. 

Once he made his selection, he put the menu down and blinked when he found Dean staring at him. He frowned. “What?”

Dean shook his head, smile curling his lips. “Nothing.” He nodded at the menu. “What are you getting?” 

“The turkey burger on sourdough bread.”

Dean pulled a face, sticking his tongue out in distaste. “That’s not a real burger.”

“What makes you say that? It’s meat between two pieces of bread.”

“It’s turkey sitting in the middle of sourdough. A real burger has beef and white buns.” Dean smacked his lips with two fingers. “And we can’t forget the fries.”

Castiel arched a brow. “So I win points by getting sweet potato fries?” Dean made that face again. “There’s nothing wrong with sweet potato fries,” he argued.

Dean waved the argument away with his hand. “Didn’t know you liked sweet potato.”

“They’re all right,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. Sweet potatoes weren’t as delicious as salted French fries, but they weren’t disgusting like Dean seemed to think they were. 

“If they’re just all right, why are you getting sweet potato fries?”

This wasn’t the first time someone had commented on his choice of substituting regular fries with sweet potato fries, and he shouldn’t have been surprised by Dean’s opinion. If anyone were to ask him what Dean would choose to eat for the rest of his life, it would be a bacon cheeseburger with salty fries on the side and a bottle of beer. 

“I made a decision to eat a little healthier,” Castiel explained, “so I started to order sweet potato fries wherever they are available. Sometimes if they don’t have that, I get a salad or fruit as a side.”

“You’re a health nut now?” Dean widened his eyes incredulously, as though Castiel’s decision to eat healthy was an anomaly that had never been done before by anyone.

“No,” Castiel denied, scowling when Dean laughed. “I still indulge in a lot of things I like, but I don’t overdo it the way I used it. I can live without fries made out of brown potatoes. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can live without fries in general.”

Dean mulled over that before sighing and shaking his head, grimacing. “I can’t. I’d probably toss over some tables if I don’t eat some fat, salty fries whenever I crave them.”

Castiel chuckled, and he realized that he was more relaxed than he had expected to be. He thought he’d be tense and that their conversations would be stilted, but they were only ten minutes into this arranged lunch and Castiel was smiling and talking naturally like he would with any of his friends. The unexpected camaraderie relieved him of the notion that getting through this would be a chore. It also did much to shrink the anxious knot inside him.

A waiter ambled up to their table, pad out and ready. His nametag read the name Henry. “Are we all set to order?” he asked, glancing between them. 

After exchanging looks, Dean nodded and smiled up at the waiter. “I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger with cheddar cheese, done medium well, and I’ll also have a side of your curly fries, please.”

The waiter wrote it down with a nod, pencil scribbling. “Bacon cheeseburger, got it.” He smiled at Dean for a moment before looking at Castiel. “And for you, sir?”

Castiel delivered his order, rolling his eyes at the gagging face Dean made. Just to annoy him, he added, “No seasoning on my fries and no mayo on my burger.”

“No problem,” Henry stated, adding down Castiel’s order. “Anything to drink?”

“Glass of water.”

“Just water?” Dean shook his head in mock disappointment, making the waiter chuckle. Castiel gave Dean a dark look, which only resulted in Dean snickering. He was clearly having a blast poking fun at Castiel. “I’ll have a beer,” he told the waiter.

“Coming right up,” Henry said, gathering their menus and walking away.

Eyebrows went up when Castiel noticed the way Dean’s eyes lingered on the waiter’s retreating backside, an appreciative hum escaping his lips. Castiel glanced towards their waiter where he had circled the counter and disappeared behind a swinging door, presumably to deliver their orders to the cook. Before he had crossed through the door, though, he had glanced over his shoulder towards their table, cheeks flushing a little when he saw Dean looking in his direction.

“Cute,” Dean commented, sounding thoughtful.

Castiel pursed his lips. He didn’t disagree with Dean’s assessment. Henry was adorable, with short dark blond hair and warm brown eyes, and he seemed very friendly, but Castiel didn’t think Henry would know what to do with someone like Dean. Henry radiated innocence and youthfulness, which was why Castiel couldn’t really label him as anything other than cute and adorable. Dean would eat him alive, and that certainly wasn’t the kind of man who could satisfy him. 

He cleared his throat, grabbing Dean’s attention. Not wanting to delve into a conversation revolving around Henry, he said, “You should really watch the kind of junk food you consume.” He grabbed the little pamphlet that had been propped up between the salt and pepper shakers. He had noticed it earlier, and it held all of the nutritious facts about every single meal that the diner offered. He reached across the table and waved it in Dean’s face. “Do you realize how much calories are in a single order of fries?”

Dean snatched the pamphlet and tossed it on the table. “Don’t really care.”

“You should, otherwise you’ll end up finding yourself with high cholesterol one of these days.”

“Jesus, you sound just like my brother. He bitches at me every time we talk on the phone about getting high cholesterol if I don’t watch what I eat.” Dean rolled his eyes, as if he was annoyed by his brother’s rants, but his eyes were shining with love and adoration. “He’s such a fucking health nut. He says that he always gets a salad wherever he goes. He especially likes the spinach kind of salad.”

“They’re good,” Castiel said, knowing that giving his opinion would only irritate Dean. He forgot how much fun it was to push Dean’s buttons. “You should try it sometime.”

Dean scowled at him slightly. “Yeah, sure.” He planted his arms on the table, crossing them over the metal surface. “But forgive me if I decide to stick with my meat and potatoes. And I don’t mean sweet potatoes,” he added sternly with a raised finger before Castiel could say a word.

Henry returned to their table with drinks in hand. He set them down and handed them two straws. “You’re order will be out soon,” he assured them with another blinding smile towards Dean.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, grabbing a straw and opening it. He plopped it into his glass and took a long sip of the icy liquid.

“No problem.” Henry left, but not before exchanging another look with Dean.

After swallowing down his mouthful of water, Castiel asked, “How is Sam, by the way?”

Dean looked pleasantly surprised by the query. “You remember his name?”

“You did speak about him on a daily basis,” Castiel pointed out, dragging a finger down the condensation on his glass. He couldn’t forget Sam’s name even if he wanted to. Dean had spoken that much about him, but Castiel had never been bothered by it. Dean’s world had seemed to revolve around his little brother, always sounding like a proud papa bear whenever he gloated about Sam’s accomplishments.

Dean grinned. “So I did.” He leaned back against the booth and rested an arm along the top of his padded seat. “He’s doing well. He and Jessica—you remember her?”

Castiel nodded. “Sam’s long-time girlfriend, right?”

“She’s his fiancée now. They had a baby just last Christmas.” He dug out his phone and fiddled with it for a moment, his tongue poking out slightly and his brows furrowed in concentration. The cuteness of the action clashed with Dean’s tough exterior, and it had Castiel’s heart stuttering just a little bit, startling him.

He didn’t get a chance to analyze his reaction, though, because Dean was shoving his phone into Castiel’s face. “Meet baby Luca.”

Luca looked back at him with a toothless smile, eyes wide and hands in the air as he was cradled in big hands. Castiel recognized those hands, and could imagine Luca sitting in Uncle Dean’s lap. It reminded him of his own nephew at that age, before Anna went away to Europe with her husband and took Matthew with her. He was probably in his late teens now, maybe even close to twenty. “Congratulations,” he murmured. “He’s a handsome little boy.” 

Dean looked at the picture proudly, like he was the one that fathered Luca and not his brother. “They plan to get married next year. Jess refuses to walk down the aisle until she loses her pregnancy weight.” Dean snorted. “Not that she had gained all that much to begin with, but don’t even try telling her that. Soon as you do, she’ll point to different areas of her body and emphasize the extra fat she’s carrying. She made me touch her stomach.”

“So you’ve been spending time with them?” Castiel asked, leaning forward a little as the volume of the diner increased. Looking around, he realized that there were a few more booths filled. All the seats at the counter were occupied already. Looked like the lunch hour rush was starting.

“Not as much as I’d like to. They live out in California, and they’ve visited twice since my release, but they can’t do it often because of their jobs and they don’t want to travel too much with Luca, since he’s still a baby.”

“You should probably go visit them,” Castiel suggested.

“I’m saving up money so I can spend a week over there. Have to clear it with my parole officer first, though.” Dean smiled down at his phone, studying the picture of his nephew. “It’s nice, though, seeing them without glass being in the way.” Dean put his phone away. “So,” he said, focusing on Castiel. “I know that you’re a paralegal, you got hitched, and that you became a health nut. What else is new?”

“I didn’t become a health nut.” Castiel interlaced his fingers together on top of the table. “Nothing much is new besides my new job and my marital status. I don’t exactly live an exciting life.”

“Not true. Just last week your firm managed to exonerate someone from spending his life in prison. Made the headlines and everything.”

Castiel arched a brow. “How do you know that? From what I gathered, you didn’t even know I was a paralegal until yesterday.”

“I did some research,” Dean admitted. “The kind of cases you take on are all over the web.”

Castiel smiled grimly. He had a love/hate relationship with the publicity his firm tended to receive. When Castiel had come along, it had been a small group consisting of three retired attorneys, two legal secretaries, and one paralegal. Now it had blossomed to about fifty people, including a publicist, three researchers, and even an ex-cop. 

While a few members did get paid (Castiel being one of them), most of the firm was made up of volunteers and interns. Now that they had more people, they were able to take on more than one case at a time, divided up by groups within the organization. While that made it possible to have at least one positive outcome, the truth of the matter was that it was difficult to exonerate innocent inmates. It was a long, complicated process that could take months, and while all the attention helped bring awareness to the mistakes their justice system made sometimes, it also flooded them with thousands of requests for help. Only a fraction of those requests were authentic, but the firm didn’t have the resources or the money to accept all of them.

“It’s not as exciting as it sounds,” he murmured, and when he noticed Dean leaning closer, he realized that Dean couldn’t hear him all that well now that the diner was mostly full with hungry customers who were chattering away with the diner’s staff or each other. He could barely hear the music anymore. “It’s hard work, and while you hear about that one successful case, you don’t hear about the twenty others that didn’t even make it to a judge.”

“One success story is better than nothing, Cas. At least one person is with their family today, getting married or seeing their baby being born. You should be proud of that.”

“I am,” Castiel stated firmly. “I’m happy to help in any way I can, but there’s still so many rotting in prison for crimes they didn’t commit. Even if they do come out one day, whether because they were proved innocent or because they were paroled, there’s a stigma attached to them. That’s what grates me the most, the way the public just focuses on inmates who are released and doesn’t give them the time to settle down and adjust.”

“Sounds to me like your experience with the public when you were released wasn’t as great as some of the success stories I found in the media.” Dean tilted his head thoughtfully. “Was it hard when you got out?”

“Yeah.” Castiel hesitated, drinking a bit of his water. “I know it was only two years—and that’s hardly anything when compared to your sentence—but that was more than enough time to condition me to a restricted lifestyle. First day I was out, I was following the prison’s schedule, because I was just so used to it and had a hard time making my own decisions. Being in the public eye hadn’t helped me at all.” He played with the straw in his glass, remembering those early days of his freedom. It was hard just thinking about it. “People looked at me differently, like I didn’t belong here. Only Balthazar looked at me the same.”

But even that hadn’t felt right, because Balthazar had been looking for the Castiel he had met and fallen in love with, the man he had been before he had been arrested and convicted for murder. Castiel had pretended to be that man for him, because pretending meant that nothing had changed, that he was still the same normal guy he was before he got sent to prison, and that he hadn’t just gone through a huge turning point in his life.

“It took months for my friends to even look me in the face.” Castiel chuckled sardonically. “For a while, I didn’t even have any friends, just Balthazar.”

“And your family?” Dean asked gently, sympathetic.

“Gabriel and Michael visited me as soon as I was out.” Gabriel and Michael were his older brothers who practically raised him when his mother died months after giving birth to him. Their father had long ago left the picture. “Anna called me, but had no intention of returning to the States to see me.”

Dean tsked, disapproval written all over his face on Castiel’s behalf. Castiel was a little touched by that. “You think she’ll ever come back?” Dean asked.

Castiel snorted. “After the shit storm Michael threw over her pregnancy? Fuck no. He didn’t even visit when she gave birth to the baby.” Anna had gotten pregnant as a teenager, and Michael had blown a gasket over it, telling her to give up the baby for adoption or be kicked out of the family. It was one of the reasons why Anna had opted to marry and run away to Europe. She even went as far as to revoke her US citizenship. Castiel had only been ten at the time. 

Castiel had been closer to her than he had been to his brothers, but the distance had taken a toll on their relationship. Now, they only talked a few times every couple of years. He was pretty sure the only reason why she even knew he had been in prison was because Gabriel or Balthazar contacted her, because he hadn’t bothered to. That said how far apart they had drifted from each other. He couldn’t help but wish she had been around to help him get through the months leading up to his conviction and the months that followed his release. He was sure she would have had known what to say during the moments when Castiel just wasn’t sure what to do. 

He shook off his morose thoughts and decided to shift the conversation in another direction. “How have you been doing since you’ve been out?” he asked. Even though he knew that Dean wasn’t having an easy time of it, he was curious about the details on how Dean was getting by. 

“I’m an ex-convict whose case was splashed all over the news. What do you think?” Dean took a big, healthy gulp of his beer. “I don’t have the luxury of saying that the cops and jury screwed up like you do, angel. Everyone knows what I did and they are happy to call me a murderer.”

“You’re not a murderer.” Castiel frowned at Dean, staring at him hard. “Jonathan raped Cassandra, Dean. That would make anyone furious.”

“But it doesn’t make everyone furious enough to kill.”

Remorse flashed in Dean’s eyes, and it hurt Castiel to see it. Dean had always regretted what he had done, and had never thought that his prison sentence was undeserved. Anyone who knew about Dean’s case usually latched onto the fact that he had choked someone to death, fooled by the DA’s accusations that Dean had killed Jonathon in a jealous rage after discovering his affair with Dean’s girlfriend. The public preferred to believe that than the real story, that it was a crime of passion that resulted after Dean had learned that his best friend brutally raped the woman he loved. It didn’t help matters when she refused to testify in Dean’s case.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Cassandra had taken off without a single word to Dean about where she was going. Maybe Cassandra had still been reeling by everything that had happened—her rape, the court hearings—but Dean had killed for her. He had gone to prison for her. The least she could have done was given him a reason for her departure instead of a vague ‘We’re done, don’t find me’ written on a postcard. Castiel was angry just thinking about it.

“I can see it in everyone’s eyes,” Dean murmured, and Castiel resisted the urge to reach out and grab his hand to lend comfort. “The ones who know what I did, they all think I should’ve stayed locked up. Some of them don’t even look at me, and a couple of these people I remember going to school with. I used to call them friends.” Dean rubbed at his forehead, looking exhausted. “The only people in my corner are Bobby and Sam. If I didn’t have them, I don’t know where I’d be. Probably back in prison with all the other murderers.”

Dean wasn’t a murderer, but before he could assure Dean of that fact again, their waiter returned with two plates in his hands. “Turkey burger for you,” he announced, sliding the plate in front of Castiel. “And a bacon cheeseburger for you.” He placed Dean’s plate in front of him. He straightened up and clasped his hands behind him, standing at attention. 

“Thank you,” Dean said with a wink, flirtatious expression hiding any hint of the serious conversation they had just been having.

“Enjoy,” Henry said with a wink of his own before departing. 

Though he loathed encouraging the interest between Dean and Henry, he really wanted to boost Dean’s morale. “Henry seems to like you,” he said, teasing him lightly. “He doesn’t look at you like you’re a murderer.” 

“He likes me because he doesn’t know me. Once he realizes what I did, he’s going to walk away real fast.” Dean scowled down at his burger. “Believe me, it’s happened before. It’s easier to fuck them and leave them before they find out my past.”

As Dean reached the bottle of ketchup and viciously shook the bottle to pour the thick liquid over his fries, Castiel wondered at Dean’s decision not to move far away from Lawrence. This city was plagued with memories and Dean was obviously having a much harder time adjusting than Castiel had initially presumed. Though he could never truly hide his criminal records in this era of internet and social media, he had a better chance of living a normal life if he moved to a big metropolitan city like Los Angeles or New York where he could blend in a little easier, and where he didn’t bump into old friends who shunned him. 

“Why did you come back here?” Castiel inquired softly as the aroma of his food reached his nose, and his stomach growled. He was suddenly famished. He grabbed a fry. “Why not go to California and be with your brother?”

Dean shrugged, putting the ketchup back. “Because I’m a masochist?” He laughed humorlessly, and then slumped. “This is home, Cas. I grew up here. My parents grew up here. I can’t see myself living anywhere else.” He gathered his burger into two hands. A slice of tomato poked out on top of a melted slice of cheese. “Sammy would welcome me with open arms if I wanted to go live with him—he told me as much—but I’ll just be in the way. He has his own family and a successful career working for a very well-known law firm. He’s living the American dream. He doesn’t need the burden of his ex-convict of a brother.”

“I’m sure he won’t see it that way.”

“Probably,” Dean agreed. He took a bite out of his burger, taking a few seconds to chew and swallow. “But I’ll see it like that. I can’t rely on my brother, and that’s exactly what’s going to happen with my criminal record. No employer is going to hire me. I have to rely on myself, you know?” He put down his burger to take a sip of his beer. “Besides, Bobby’s here, and he’s helping me have some independence by giving me a job. Soon as I save up enough cash, I’ll rent an apartment and get out of the old man’s hair.”

Finding an apartment might not be as successful as finding a job. Landlords generally ran credit and criminal backgrounds. He couldn’t see anyone approving him for an apartment, not unless Dean found a landlord who was willing to look beyond the stories told in the newspaper and see Dean the way Castiel saw him. Castiel didn’t say any of that, unwilling to throw an unwanted wrench into Dean’s optimistic plans.

“You’re doing a lot better than most, Dean, you should be proud of that.”

“I guess.” Dean ate a few fries, and Castiel decided to start on his own food. “It’s been a struggle, angel, and it’s not just because of everyone turning against me. I wasn’t exactly prepared for all the changes that happened.”

“Like what?” He took a bite of his burger and made a sound of delight at the taste. Dean might accuse his choice of food of not being a real burger, but it tasted delicious. He took another big bite.

“Like smartphones.” Dean used a pinky to tap his phone where it sat next to his plate. “This thing has so many functions that I don’t know what to do with most of them. If I had it my way, I would’ve gone for a basic model that didn’t have the bells and whistles, but my brother gave this to me as a gift because, as he put it, I needed to get out of the ‘stone age.’” Dean glowered in displeasure. “He tossed my old phone away.”

“Old phone?” Castiel blinked, lowering his burger on the plate and snagging another fry. “You don’t mean the phone you had before you got convicted, right?”

“It was a good phone,” Dean defended. “It was with my personal effects. I forgot I had the thing, to be honest, and it wasn’t like I was going to use it. Even I knew I needed a new phone, but I would’ve been happy with a basic phone, like my old phone.”

“All phones from the nineties were basic.” He dug out his own phone to show Dean. “If it makes you feel better, my phone is considered middle-aged, and I only got it two years ago.” 

Dean snickered. “Oh, yeah, loads better.” He considered his half-eaten burger for a moment. “I just—I don’t know, man. It’s a whole different world, and I don’t know if I’ll ever really belong in it.”

Silence fell as Dean returned to his meal. Castiel followed suit, studying Dean from beneath his lashes. Dean ate his burger with gusto, making small sounds of appreciation with every other bite. He acted like the burger was the most amazing thing in the world, and after a moment of thinking it over, Castiel figured that it probably was. Prison food sucked, and it made everything else seem fantastic. 

The big smile on Dean’s face had Castiel smiling in response, happy that Dean could now have as many bacon cheeseburgers that he wanted without needing to pay another inmate with cigarettes or other illegal amenities to get them. Maybe next time, they could eat at a tiny little restaurant just outside of the city. It was well-known for its triple-stacked chili burger, and he had a feeling Dean would love it. 

His thoughts came to a jarring halt. _Next time?_ Was he seriously thinking of a next time after telling himself that this would be a one time thing? 

He frowned at his plate. While he hadn’t planned to see Dean again after this, his decision to do so had been before he realized just how comfortable and relaxing the atmosphere was between them. They were talking like old friends, and Castiel was enjoying himself despite the serious topics they touched. 

With the past they shared, though, it made him a little unsure if it was a good idea to nurture any kind of friendship between them. With Dean came the danger of Balthazar finding out all the secrets he had kept from him, and Castiel had worked so hard to prevent Balthazar from discovering them. It seemed too risky to be involved with Dean in any way when the potential was there for his secrets to come out. 

“Something wrong?”

Castiel looked up at Dean, who was frowning at him. “Wrong?” Castiel repeated.

“You’re sort of scowling at that burger. Is it undercooked or something?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

He didn’t intend to say anything about his worries, but the words came out anyway. “What happened between you and I isn’t something I want Balthazar to ever find out. You do understand that, right?”

Bewildered, Dean nodded slowly. “Kind of figured that out when you said he didn’t know about me or that we slept together.”

“Good, because if he ever did find out—”

“I’m not one to kiss and tell, Cas.”

Castiel arched a brow. “I beg to differ. How many inmates did you brag about what we did together?”

“You know as well as I do that was necessary to keep up pretenses. I kissed and I told as much as I could to make sure everyone knew who you belonged to.” Dean leaned forward and looked at Castiel earnestly. “I did what I had to in order to protect you. No one was going to hurt you if I had anything to say about it.”

Castiel didn’t need Dean to remind him of that fact. He remembered clearly how untouchable he became once he was under Dean’s protection, because Dean Winchester was the convict no one messed with, and if anyone touched his property they had to face dire and painful consequences.

It shed a light on how ungrateful Castiel was acting. Dean had done a lot for him, and now that he was out and having a hard time, Castiel had tried to turn his back on him. In his defense, Dean had been rather forward and completely disrespectful of Castiel’s marriage the day he arrived at his house, but it wasn’t like Castiel hadn’t put too much resistance in the first place. Once he had, Dean had backed off, and he hadn’t done anything in the past twenty minutes or so they’ve been at the diner that indicated he was going to cross the boundary Castiel had set. Instead, he was making eyes at Henry every time the waiter passed by their table.

“Cas?” Dean prompted, making Castiel realize that he had been quiet for a little too long. 

There was concern in Dean’s eyes, and the familiar expression made him feel warm. Dean might look tough with his tattoos, but he was gentle and protective of those he cared about. Castiel remembered the cold nights he had spent in Dean’s arms when they had begun their arrangement, and how safe he had felt as Dean held him close while nearby beds creaked and footsteps walked by their cell. He remembered all the assurances Dean murmured in his ear about how Castiel would one day get his freedom, giving Castiel hope that he wouldn’t live out the rest of his days in a dingy cell surrounded by violent criminals.

A man like that shouldn’t have to go through life alone and judged because of one thoughtless decision. The only people Dean could depend on was a brother living in California and a pseudo-father figure, neither of whom understood how it was to live in a medium-security prison or how difficult it was to adjust living outside of it.

But Castiel understood. He was the only one who did.

Castiel’s resolve crumbled. He couldn’t turn his back on Dean. He didn’t want to, if he were honest. He wanted to be there and help him get used to his complicated cell phone and encourage him in his pursuit of becoming independent. An ex-convict with a weak support system wouldn’t get far in life, and Castiel wanted to make sure that Dean didn’t backtrack to a point where he felt a need to do something drastic just so he could go back to the prison where it was familiar territory for him. 

Dean needed a friend in his corner who really got the troubles he was going through, and Castiel wanted to be that for him.

So he smiled and said, “I’m fine.”

Dean cocked his head to the side. “You sure?” he asked suspiciously. His eyes flickered over Castiel’s face, peering at him closely. “Because if you want to talk about something, I’m all ears. I’m here for you, too.”

That just made Castiel’s smile widen. “Yes, I’m sure.” He drained the rest of his water and lifted his hand to catch their waiter’s attention to ask for more water. “And me, too.”

“And you too, what?”

“I’m here for you, too.”

Dean blinked before ducking his head. “Good to know.” 

His voice was even, and Castiel couldn’t quite get a good look at Dean’s face, but he caught a small curve of lips, and that was enough to squash any doubts about his decision. 

**

It started with lunches every Saturday. For the first few weeks they ate at Temples, but eventually, they ventured out to other venues, including the restaurant that served the chili burger (Dean immediately labeled the restaurant as one of his top favorites based on that burger alone). When they started going to different restaurants, they started getting together not just for lunch, but for dinner and the occasional breakfast on days other than Saturday.

They also texted and called each other several times a week. At first, Dean was the one who called or texted Castiel, but it didn’t take long for him to start sending Dean pictures of things he thought he’d like, or call him to share a funny story he heard. Every time Dean sent him a grateful look or laughed with joy, it infused him with pleasure. He felt good knowing that he was doing something to help Dean feel normal, whether it was helping him learn how to use an iPod or giving him advice on which laptop he should buy. 

Their conversations covered a wide range of topics, some serious—like Dean being denied service at a small family-owned café his first week out because the owners knew of his past—and some light-hearted and ludicrous, like when they delved into a conversation about _Dr. Sexy, M.D._ Dean had discovered it a while ago and borrowed Bobby’s Netflix to watch past seasons, and he thought the current season was scandalous (while Castiel considered the show itself corny and didn’t really watch it much, he did enjoy the way Dean ranted about the new love triangle that was forming). Castiel always returned home with a full belly and in a good mood after hanging out with Dean.

Spending so much time with Dean made him realize how much he had missed him. He had forgotten how hilarious Dean could be, and how worldly he was thanks to his love for reading newspapers (Dean always did have a fascination with the more unusual stories that popped up, though), and when Castiel was in a bad mood because of work or because of something else, Dean always knew what to say or do to make him smile.

He also realized how much he was gaining from this budding friendship. Dean wasn’t the only one who needed someone to listen about life post-prison. Castiel struggles might have happened in the past, but there had always been a burden on his shoulders because of his decision to keep certain things from Balthazar about what he experienced during those two years. It was refreshing to speak freely about certain areas of his life without worrying about letting details slip that would reveal his secrets.

As wonderful as the friendship was, there was some kind of weird energy floating between them whenever they got together. It was filled with tension that Castiel knew was more his own fault than Dean’s. Every slight brushing of fingers had Castiel shivering, and every time Dean laughed openly and loudly without a care in the world, Castiel found himself a little breathless. It made Castiel nervous sometimes whenever he reacted that way, but he just stifled them and pretended like nothing was happening. 

Well, nothing _was_ happening. Dean hadn’t made any moves on him, hadn’t made any innuendos or lewd comments towards him. Everything was friendly and platonic between them. And even if Castiel was worried about Dean hitting on him again, it was unfounded when Dean tended to hit and flirt on every handsome man and pretty girl they encountered (Henry had been his favorite to flirt with at Temples until Dean had a one night stand with him that left Henry out in the cold when Dean showed no interest in a repeat performance; it was one of the reasons why they opted to start eating at other places besides Temples).

“You shouldn’t lead people on,” Castiel had said at one point, frowning in disapproval when Dean grabbed the number of a waitress. “Ever thought of being celibate?”

Dean had snorted in disbelief. “Angel, there’s no way I was made to be celibate.”

“I’m just saying that maybe you shouldn’t sleep with everything that moves,” Castiel had muttered into his soda, rolling his eyes when Dean winked at the waitress where she had been standing on the other side of the small restaurant. He had scowled and decided not to bring it up again. 

It was exasperating, though, how loose Dean was with his body, and while Castiel couldn’t exactly explain why it made him uncomfortable to see Dean be so promiscuous, it wasn’t his place to tell Dean what to do. No matter how much he wished it was whenever Dean told him about the phone sex he had the night before or the intense role play he experienced the night before that. 

That only made Castiel even more determined to stay friends with Dean, because clearly he was using sex as an outlet of some kind to help him adjust, and Castiel figured that he could somehow make Dean see that he didn’t need to jump into every person’s bed just to feel whatever it was Dean was chasing. So whenever Dean showed interest in someone, Castiel distracted him with a topic that would keep him occupied long enough to forget about the person.

The way Castiel saw it, it was his duty as Dean’s friend, and Castiel would do anything for his friends.

**

Summer eventually transitioned into autumn, and by the time October rolled around, people were wearing jeans and long sleeved shirts under sweaters and jackets. Halloween was just around the corner, and decorations were up at every house Castiel passed while children gossiped about the costumes they were planning on wearing. He and Balthazar had already put up their own decorations of pumpkins and skeletons outside their home, and they bought enough candy to give every single man, woman, and child that approached their home. Castiel drew the line at dressing up, though.

Dean, on the other hand, seemed eager for the holiday, and Castiel had been relatively certain that Dean had a costume picked out long before Dean whipped out his phone to proudly show what costume Dean planned to wear.

“Dr. Sexy?” Castiel looked at the picture in disbelief before handing Dean back his phone. “You’re going to dress up as Dr. Sexy.” Castiel couldn’t believe there was even a costume out there based on the show. Leave it to Dean to find it, though.

“Why not?” Dean ate his bagel, scooting his chair a little bit as a harried man ran out of the café they were in and nearly smacked Dean in the head with his briefcase on his way out. The café was definitely starting to get crowded, but they weren’t going to stay there for much longer. Castiel’s and Dean’s lunch hours were almost over. “Got the scrubs, the white coat, and his signature boots.” Dean nearly bounced in his seat. 

“And you don’t think it’s going to be odd that a grown man is trick-or-treating on his own?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, right, like I’m going to be the only adult trick-or-treating without a kid to use as an excuse.”

Dean had a point. Castiel did have the occasional adult approach his door dressed up in some kind of costume with a bag held out asking for candy. To be honest, Dean being a grown man who asked for candy along with dozens of children wasn’t what worried him. It was Dean approaching a house and getting the door slammed in his face because the resident knew what Dean had done that worried Castiel. Dean looked so excited; Castiel didn’t want anything to ruin the experience for him.

Not that he needed to worry. Dean had apparently already thought of that. “I’m going to go to Topeka to do it. Less chances of banging on the door of an old friend, if you know what I mean.” Dean leaned forward. “You should come with me!”

Castiel laughed. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

“Come on, Cas. It’ll be fun, and I heard there’s a bar in Topeka that throws pretty wild Halloween parties.”

“I’m not going to dress up and ask complete strangers to give me candy. I have a whole bag of it at home.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s not about the candy. It’s about the experience. The last time I went trick-or-treating, I was dressed as a Marine, and Cassandra and Jonathan—” Dean stopped abruptly, and he took a deep breath as his eyes grew sad. “Cassandra was dressed as a sexy maid, and Jonathan went as a ghost,” he continued quietly. He pushed away the rest of his bagel.

Castiel reached out and gently covered Dean’s hand. “Was that the last time all three of you were happy?”

Dean sighed and nodded. “By the next Halloween, I was starting my first year in prison.”

The table went silent, and Castiel wasn’t sure how to comfort him. When they had been lovers, Castiel had held Dean in his arms and bestowed kisses on his head whenever Dean withdrew into himself because of past memories. Castiel couldn’t do that now, and simply holding his hand as he had been doing lately was starting to feel inadequate. 

But there was one thing he could do for him, and he honestly couldn’t believe he was considering it, but if it would make Dean happy . . . “Do not expect me to go with you in a costume, got it?”

Dean looked at him, and the sadness that had crept into his green eyes vanished. Castiel couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes glowed bright. “We’ll see about that, Mr. Novak,” Dean replied.

Castiel snickered. “Looking forward to the challenge, Mr. Winchester.” 

**

“You couldn’t have warned me that you were going to abandon me to give out candy on my own?” Balthazar asked sullenly. 

Castiel shrugged into his tan coat, giving him a look. “They’re children, Balthazar, not monsters. You’ll survive.”

Balthazar plopped down on their bed and scowled. “Isn’t Dean a little old for trick-or-treating anyway?”

“It’s about the experience,” Castiel said, repeating Dean’s words. Excitement curled in his belly as he checked himself out in the mirror. He didn’t go crazy with his choice of wardrobe, but when Dean finally managed to convince him to dress a little more extravagant than jeans and a shirt (Castiel had lost the challenge embarrassingly quickly once Dean gave him a puppy-eyed look), Castiel had dug out his tan coat, a hat, and one of his black suits. He was going as a detective, and he even found a fake badge to go with it. It was currently tucked in his coat’s pocket. “For one night, we can act like little kids and have fun.”

“You’re not children.”

Castiel turned around and took in the way Balthazar was sulking. “No, we’re not, but I know of someone who _is_ acting like a child right about now.”

Balthazar pulled a face. “I just don’t see why you have to be the one to go with Dean. He has other friends, doesn’t he?”

“Balthazar—”

“Why are you always the one he calls and goes out with?” Balthazar muttered.

Castiel sighed and walked over to him. He crouched down in front of him, placing his hands on his thighs and looking up at him. “We’re making up for lost time, Balthazar, and he hasn’t quite made friends with others yet.” That was the understatement of the year, but it wasn’t something Balthazar would understand without the full story to explain why that was. “Besides, all you and I do on Halloween is sit around in our sweats and watch television.”

“It’s our tradition.”

“Tradition of doing nothing.” Castiel smiled slightly and leaned forward to kiss Balthazar on the corner of his lips. Balthazar still didn’t look pacified, and Castiel narrowed his eyes in thought. “Tomorrow night, how about you and I go out to your favorite jazz lounge?”

Balthazar perked up. “Really?” Castiel nodded, and Balthazar touched the side of his cheek. “Without Dean interrupting?”

Castiel was a little taken aback by that demand, not understanding where Balthazar’s sudden hostility towards Castiel’s growing friendship with Dean was coming from, but he nodded anyway. “Of course.”

Balthazar grinned. “All right then.”

Castiel smiled. “Perfect.”

“I love you,” Balthazar said softly, leaning in to kiss him again.

Castiel’s phone rang, and Castiel quickly got to his feet and took out his phone from his pocket. He looked at the caller ID before answering. “Yes?”

“I’m out front,” Dean said cheerfully. “Ready to go?”

“More than ready,” Castiel said. “I’ll be right out.” He hanged up and tucked his phone back in his pocket. “All right, Balthazar, I’m heading out.” He grabbed his keys and wallet from the nightstand, putting them in his pocket as well. “I’ll see you later.” He quickly pecked Balthazar on the cheek. 

He turned towards the bedroom door, but Balthazar grabbed his wrist and brought him to a halt. Castiel looked at him with a frown. “What’s wrong?” he asked, seeing the guarded look Balthazar wore. 

Balthazar opened his mouth, but then closed it and shook his head. He released Castiel’s wrist. “Nothing.”

Castiel stood where he was for a couple of beats, a part of him eager to leave and join Dean, but another part of him wanting to stay and figure out what was wrong with Balthazar. He was acting odd. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” As if to prove it, Balthazar stood up and placed his hands on Castiel’s shoulders, gripping tight. “Go on, have fun.” He kissed Castiel on the lips, but it wasn’t chaste, quick, or gentle. It was deep, long, and rough. Balthazar was kissing him hard, bruising his lips and thrusting into his mouth whenever he wasn’t biting Castiel’s bottom lip. He was barely letting him breath, and every time Castiel turned his head away to take a breath, Balthazar chased his mouth and sealed his lips once more.

By the time it was over, Castiel was plastered against Balthazar’s chest, hands hanging onto Balthazar’s shoulders for dear life. Balthazar glanced over his face before looking satisfied. “Don’t stay out too late,” he said huskily, squeezing Castiel’s ass for emphasis.

“Right.” Castiel was a little dazed, not to mention a bit confused over Balthazar’s brief show of dominance. Balthazar didn’t generally kiss him like that, and Castiel wasn’t sure what to make of it.

He was just about to ask what brought that on when his phone pinged, alerting him of a text and making him jump. He quickly stepped out of Balthazar’s arms and looked at his phone. It was Dean, asking him if he was coming out any time soon.

“Shit, I have to go.” He rubbed his mouth, wincing a little at how sensitive his lips were. He looked at Balthazar curiously, who returned it with his own intense stare. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes.” Balthazar smiled at him slowly. “I just wanted to remind you what’s waiting for you at home.”

Castiel tilted his head. The explanation made sense, but it still didn’t quite mesh with the way Balthazar usually kissed him. He didn’t really have time to think about it, though, because his phone pinged again with another text message.

He leaned forward and kissed Balthazar’s cheek. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

Castiel quickly left the room and ran down the stairs and out the front door.

Dean was tapping the steering wheel when Castiel slid into the car. “Sorry for making you wait.” After putting on his seatbelt, he turned to look at Dean properly, and the car suddenly felt warm when he saw the striking picture Dean made in his Dr. Sexy costume. He didn’t know why when all he was wearing was a white coat over green scrubs, but Castiel felt very, very warm just looking at him.

Dean ran his eyes up and down Castiel. “Who are you supposed to be?”

Ignoring how flushed he felt, Castiel opened his coat and took out his badge from the inner pocket. He showed it to Dean. “Detective Novak, at your service.”

Dean threw his head back and laughed joyfully, and Castiel frowned, wondering what was so funny. “Awesome,” he said with a chuckle and wiping his eyes. “You are fucking awesome, Cas.”

“Because I chose to go as a detective?”

“Because only you would find a loophole and go in a costume that could still pass as ordinary clothes.”

Castiel tilted his chin high, taking the words as a compliment. “Why, thank you, Doctor.”

“You’re welcome, Detective.” Dean turned on the car and winked at him. “Ready for a fun night?”

Castiel settled on his seat and nodded. “Ready.”

**

Needless to say, that Halloween marked the best Halloween Castiel had in a very long time. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos!
> 
> And this story is complete, so there should be very little time in between posting of chapters.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sometimes, Castiel couldn’t believe that nearly two months have passed since Dean came back into his life. It felt like they had been hanging out forever, clicking the same way they had clicked in prison. 

Castiel also felt like he had gained quite a few pounds since Dean’s reappearance. With the number of times they go out to eat, Castiel was pretty sure that they had eaten at nearly every restaurant Lawrence, Kansas had to offer. Not that he was complaining all that much, especially when he got to enjoy delicious meals from places he never would have discovered on his own, thanks to Dean’s unusual ability to find little hole-in-the wall eateries.

Castiel polished off his meal of wheat spaghetti bolognese and sighed with satisfaction. He pushed away the plate and leaned back in his chair, glancing around the restaurant. When Dean had mentioned an Italian restaurant, Castiel’s mind had conjured up an image of candlelight and expensive bottles of wine. He didn’t know why; perhaps because the words ‘Italian restaurant’ sounded romantic to him. 

Instead, the restaurant was packed with families accompanied by loud kids, there were no candles in sight, and he was drinking a fountain drink while Dean nursed a beer. He had felt a tad disappointed when all his images were dashed at the sight of the place, and he hadn’t been able to locate the source of his discontent, but the food had been the delicious and the atmosphere was relaxing, and he decided that what he had felt hadn’t been disappointment at all, just surprise.

“This was good,” he commented as he grabbed the last piece of the complimentary breadsticks sitting in the basket. “How do you keep finding these places I’ve never heard about?”

“I have a lot of time on my hands,” Dean admitted, still working on the single barbecue pizza he had ordered for himself. “Working at the shop is steady work, but Bobby can’t afford to give me more than thirty hours, and my freelance work on restoring cars can be kind of slow in between jobs, so I kill time driving around, and I end up finding these places with cheap food whenever I get hungry.” 

“Cheap _and_ delicious.” Castiel finished off his breadstick and patted his stomach. “I’m stuffed. I gained like twenty pounds.”

“No room for dessert?”

“Not right this minute.” Castiel grimaced. “I feel bloated.” 

Dean laughed. “I’ll finish this off, and then we can go.” He grabbed another slice and devoured half of it.

“No, take your time.” Castiel took a sip of his coke, glancing over his shoulder when he heard the small shriek of a little girl wearing a birthday hat. He smiled when the staff of the restaurant approached the table with a birthday cake and began to sing to her with their custom-made birthday song. He turned back to Dean. “So, any progress on the whole going-out-to-see-Sam front?”

“My brother wants to fly me out next month.” Dean’s face twisted in distaste at the idea, and Castiel sighed, finding it a little ridiculous that Dean refused to accept his brother’s help. Dean had been hoping to go to California to see Sam for Labor Day but hadn’t saved up enough money to do it, because as Dean had put it, going out to see his brother wasn’t just going to be a weekend trip. With Dean trying to save up some money to rent a nice apartment while paying Bobby rent and trying to establish some savings in his back account in order to have a financial cushion for the future, he just didn’t have the funds for an impromptu trip half way across the States. 

“It’s okay to be a little dependent on someone else, Dean,” Castiel said.

Dean shook his head stubbornly. “No way. That’s how it’ll start. Before you know it, Sam will have a second child living in his home, except that this second child will be a full grown man in his late thirties.” He waved away any further attempts at arguing when Castiel opened his mouth. “Little brother of mine also wants to take me to a fancy restaurant and taste the best filet mignon there ever was, according to him.”

“That sounds nice.”

“You know I don’t do fancy. Give me junk food over fancy meat any day. Not that Sammy cares. He plans to take me to a fancy dinner for my birthday next year.”

Dean grimaced and Castiel chuckled at the picture he currently made. “What do you want to do for your birthday, then, since fancy doesn’t work for you?” Castiel leaned forward and planted his arms on the table. “Or are you at that age where you no longer have birthdays?” he teased.

Dean gave him a look that said he wasn’t amused. “Honestly, I’ll be just fine chilling at home with a beer and pizza.”

“Seriously?” Castiel gave a pointed look at the mostly eaten pizza sitting in front of Dean. “Don’t you want to do something a little more exciting?”

Dean was quiet for a moment. “After spending the past twenty birthdays in a cell, I want to spend my birthday actually eating something I want at a place where I want to be.”

“Home,” Castiel murmured.

“Yeah.” Dean smiled softly, seemingly glad that Castiel understood what he was saying. “Believe me, pizza and a beer at my place is all right by me. It’d be even better if I have a couple of close friends to enjoy it with me.” He gave Castiel a look, and Castiel glanced down shyly, a little startled that Dean was already including him in a birthday celebration that was still three months away. “But I guess we’ll see.” Dean finished off the rest of his pizza.

Once the waiter arrived with their check, Castiel reached into his pocket to pay. They had developed a system where they took turns paying for the meals. It was the only way to be fair after Dean paid for the first three lunches they had together. After the waiter took away his card, Dean asked, “Want to walk around the area for a little while?”

Castiel glanced out the window they were seated by. The area was quite nice, with businesses and other little restaurants lining the streets. Most of the trees that lined up the sidewalks were half-naked from the leaves falling, but the branches and tree trunks were wrapped with lights twinkling a soft yellow under the darkened skies. It was only half past seven, so everything was still open and the sidewalks were filled with shoppers and diners. 

“Is hubby expecting you home soon?” Dean asked when Castiel didn’t answer.

Castiel frowned slightly in annoyance, not liking the way Dean made it sound like he had a curfew or something. “He doesn’t care what time I get home.” His tone was a little harsh, and he scaled it back. “I mean, there’s no set time I’m expected home.”

Dean raised a curious brow. “Last week you didn’t go home until close to three in the morning. You told me hubby was a little mad about that.”

Castiel inwardly cringed at the reminder. He and Dean had gone to a restaurant, and after dinner they had stayed late to have a couple of drinks. It was the latest Castiel had ever stayed out, and not only had Balthazar been waiting for him when he got home, he had been absolutely furious, and Castiel had slept in the guest bedroom that night. 

The following morning, Castiel had profusely apologized and begged forgiveness. Balthazar eventually did forgive him, but not without admitting that it was worry as well fear that drove his anger when Castiel failed to answer any of Balthazar’s calls. 

“I’ll just let him know I’ll be out a little late,” Castiel decided. And by late, he meant eleven. Maybe, eleven thirty.

Dean tilted his head, looking at Castiel curiously. “He still doesn’t know who I am, right?” Castiel shook his head. “What do you tell him whenever we go out?”

“He sort of knows about you,” Castiel informed him. He played with the straw of his drink. “I mentioned your name.”

“But he doesn’t know the full story,” Dean stated. “Doesn’t know exactly who I am.”

Castiel shook his head again. “I told him your first name, but I didn’t say that your last name is Winchester.” he admitted. “Balthazar doesn’t watch much news, but he does read the paper sometimes. He probably wouldn’t realize it right away, but he will eventually figure out why Winchester sounds so familiar if he ever hears it.” He paused when the waiter came back with his card and receipt, giving them a good night before leaving them alone again. As Castiel signed the receipt, he said, “He didn’t ask too many questions, but I did say that you’re an old friend of mine, someone I worked with before I met him, and that you came back after living out of town for a while.”

Dean looked thoughtful. “Well, it’s kind of true. We were technically co-workers at the prison, and I was out of town for a long time.”

“I also told him you left because of a girlfriend and came back because of a broken heart.”

“Seriously?” Dean finished the rest of his beer and reached the back of his chair for his leather jacket. “Why didn’t you just say I was a classmate or something? I mean, that would’ve been the truth, too. We did take a couple of woodshop classes.”

“I know. Don’t ask why I said that. I figured it’d be better if I stick as close to the truth as possible so I won’t get too many things confused in case he asks for more details about you, but he sort of threw me off with one of his questions and that’s the first thing that came to mind. He’s pretty good at detecting bull shit, though.” Balthazar worked in public relations, his firm representing corporations throughout the state; his entire career was based on creating bull shit for his clients. 

Dean was quiet, green eyes having gone unfocused, and Castiel licked his lips nervously, worried now that he had offended Dean somehow. “It’s not that I’m ashamed of you or anything,” he blurted. “But like I said, I can’t tell him what happened between us in prison, or some of the things I went through in there, and the more he knows of you the more he’ll find out and sooner or later he’ll ask questions I can’t answer, and—”

“Okay, okay, angel,” Dean interrupted, reaching across the table to grab Castiel’s hand. He squeezed it, and Castiel was struck by the warmth of his touch. He wanted to bask in it. “I ain’t pissed or anything, I get it. Hubby won’t be too happy if he learns who you’re really hanging out with, right?” 

Castiel nodded slowly. “I think he’s already getting a little suspicious about the vague way I speak about you, but if he finds out that you were my cellmate, he probably won’t let me see you ever again.”

Dean frowned briefly, but then he smiled and squeezed his hand again. “Then you do what you gotta do to make sure he doesn’t find out. I won’t mind anything you tell him.” He gave Castiel a soft smile. “I don’t want to lose the only friend I got.”

“You won’t,” Castiel promised fervently. 

Dean chuckled and released Castiel’s hand. Castiel clenched his hand instinctively, as though trying to retain some of the warmth Dean’s hand had left behind. “Guess I better get you home, then.” Dean stood up and slipped into his jacket. “Don’t want to make him even more suspicious.”

Going home was the smartest thing to do, especially after getting in trouble with Balthazar last week for staying out so late. The thing was, though, he wasn’t ready to go home. Balthazar was wrapped up with a potential new client and was constantly going out or talking on the phone trying to woo the prospect into hiring his firm. The only thing that would greet him when he walked past the front door would be silence. Besides, he didn’t want to end his time with Dean yet.

Castiel scooted back his chair and got up as well. “It’s still early.” He pulled on his jacket and looked at Dean, who was staring at him with his brows arched. He looked surprised. “So long as I let Balthazar know that I’m still alive and don’t get home so late, we can walk around the area for a bit. It’ll at least let us digest the food.”

“You sure? We don’t have to. We could come back another time.”

“Why, when we’re already here?”

Dean nodded his head in acknowledgement of Castiel’s words. “True.” He walked around the table and led the way to large doors that served as both entrance and exit for the restaurant. “All right, then.”

They had parked their respective cars in a public parking garage, so after getting their tickets validated they left the restaurant and proceeded to walk down the block. It was a busy area, and when Castiel had arrived and driven down the street to reach the parking lot, he had estimated about ten blocks consisting of nothing except food and shopping establishments, all of which looked like they were independent-owned. There were no franchises taking space in this particular area. It was nice to see a mom-and-pop store instead of a Target or Wal-mart.

Castiel rubbed his hands together to generate some warmth as the autumn chill seeped into his body and touched his bones. Dean noticed. “Cold?” he asked.

“A little. I should’ve brought my gloves.”

“Here.” Dean dug into his pocket and brought out a pair of leather black gloves. “Use these.” Castiel frowned at them, and Dean gave him a questioning look. “What? Is there a problem?”

“No, not really. I just—” He looked at Dean. “I don’t see you as the leather gloves type. I see you more as a thick winter gloves kind of guy.”

Dean chuckled and pressed the gloves into Castiel’s hands. “I don’t really wear gloves at all, not unless it snows.”

Castiel glanced up at the dark sky. It was clear and filled with stars. “You’re going to have to when it snows in the winter.”

“I know. I can already smell it in the air.”

“What are you, a werewolf?” Castiel laughed softly as he slipped on the gloves. “You can’t smell snow, especially when it’s still a couple of months off.”

“You underestimate my weather-smelling abilities.” Dean winked and bumped their shoulders together. “I can smell anything that’s coming our way.”

“Sure, buddy.” He tugged on the gloves to adjust them around his fingers. “Thanks for these.” He wiggled his fingers, already feeling his skin becoming warm. “I’m going to need to find my own. They’re probably somewhere in my closet behind all the old case files.”

“From work?”

Castiel shook his head. “My own case.”

“You asked for them?”

“As soon as I got out. The only reason why I was released was because Balthazar hired a new lawyer to help me with my appeal, so I demanded my files to look over. I had to put up a fight for it and had to add it to my lawsuit against them in order to get the files, but I got them.” Castiel walked around a spilled cone of ice-cream. How anyone could eat ice-cream in this chilly weather was beyond him. 

“I know the DNA underneath her fingernails screwed you over, but was there anything else that indicated you did it?”

“Just a few fuzzy pictures and her wallet in my office.” Castiel scowled deeply, glaring at the cement on the floor as he was taken back to that start of his darkest time. “I get that DNA is a very big factor in determining cases—my firm highly depends on DNA testing to exonerate convicts who were imprisoned before DNA testing existed—but what I don’t get is how they ignored my alibi, ignored my side of the story of how my DNA got underneath her fingernails, and how they can put me at the scene of the crime when there was nothing to connect me to it.”

He was angry just thinking about. He still remembered the woman’s name: Maria. He had been her personal accountant, so she would often go to his office at the firm he had been working at so they could discuss her finances. Despite being openly gay and being in a relationship, she had not only developed a crush on him, she had tried to outright seduce him. He had rejected her after she had forced a kiss on him, and she had responded by scratching the side of his face and running out of his office in a huff.

Three hours later, she had been found dead in her car from multiple stab wounds. The car had been three blocks away from his office, and his picture had been discovered in her hand.

His office had a surveillance camera and had caught Maria’s actions, so the lead detective on the case had made the accusation that he and Maria had been having an affair that ended sourly when she had decided to tell Balthazar. The picture found in Maria’s hand and her wallet in his office had only seemed to fuel the detective’s belief in Castiel’s supposed guilt. It had been an absurd presumption, and one Castiel was sure wouldn’t fly with a jury. 

He had been wrong, and had paid the price for another’s crime.

Castiel still couldn’t understand how he ended up behind bars, because looking at his case files he could see holes in the detective’s story and he had a legitimately alibi for the time the coroner had said Maria had died. He shouldn’t have gone to prison, and while everyone had believed that Maria’s “killer” was put away, the real murderer had got away Scot free. The real culprit might have been caught by now if the cops hadn’t focused on him the way they had, and maybe they would have been given a reason for Maria’s death. Instead, it remained unsolved, both the murder and the motive. 

“I went after the cops who worked my case,” Castiel said, looking up and inhaling deeply to help alleviate the anger building up inside. “They apologized, but they weren’t sincere at all. It was more like a ‘oh, I’m sorry, but hey, you’re out now, aren’t you?’ Like two years in prison isn’t anything worth fussing over. I asked them if they’d go after Maria’s real killer, and they did at first, but the case went cold, and the family moved away. Everyone forgot about her.”

“Except you,” Dean murmured.

“Maybe I would’ve, if I wasn’t the one who went to prison for it.” He started when Dean’s arm went around his shoulders, giving him a squeeze. 

“It didn’t ruin your life, though. That’s what matters.” Dean smiled at him. “Gotta look past the bad stuff to see the good that came out of it.”

Castiel supposed that was true. As ridiculous as it sounded, some good did come out of his experience, like discovering that accounting wasn’t something he really wanted to do for the rest of his life. He found his calling in being a paralegal. The hours could be all over the place when he was deeply embroiled in a case, and it could be stressful when his boss piled him with several assignments that needed to get done within days, but it was exciting and unpredictable, and it made him feel good whenever a case led to exoneration. There was always a silver lining in every situation if one really looked for it.

He reconsidered that thought, though, when he looked at Dean. He couldn’t really see what silver lining could be found in Dean’s experience. His friends had abandoned him, the woman he loved had walked out on him, and his only relative lived over a thousand miles away. 

“And what good do you see?” he asked softly.

Dean turned his head forward. “Meeting you.”

Castiel looked away, hiding the smile that took over his mouth. Dean’s words warmed him in a way his coat and gloves couldn’t. His stomach filled with butterflies that fluttered around in his belly and, to his utter embarrassment, he felt his cheeks burning. He was blushing! He was thirty years old, and he was blushing like a bashful middle schooler. 

Dean squeezed him once more before his arm fell off his shoulders. Before Castiel could mourn the loss of it, Dean’s hand abruptly gripped his forearm and said, “Hey, how about having some of the best milkshakes in the world?”

Castiel blinked and looked in the direction Dean was pointing. They stood in front of a milkshake parlor, and through the big glass window he could see a man and woman working behind the small, steel counter, making ice-cream cones and milkshakes and handing them to a few customers who were inside.

“How are they the best?” Castiel asked seriously, cocking his head as he peered at the little establishment. It seemed a little run down, if he was perfectly honest.

“Because it says so right there.” Dean indicated the sign hanging above the door that proclaimed the establishment as having the best milkshakes in the world. “And because I tried it when I first discovered this area.” He grabbed Castiel’s hand and tugged. “It’s mandatory we get ourselves some milkshakes now.” He hauled Castiel inside. 

“I’m still full from dinner,” Castiel protested over the little bell that announced their arrival when they walked through the entrance. “And it’s cold.”

It went unheeded, though, as Dean dragged him straight to the register where the freckled brunette he had spotted through the window a few minutes earlier stood. “Hi!” she greeted happily. “What can I get you?”

“Chocolate brownie milkshake with coconut shavings.” Dean turned to Castiel. “What do you want?”

“I’m good,” Castiel said.

Dean shook his head. “Cas, I’m getting you a milkshake. So pick out a flavor or I’ll pick one out for you.”

Castiel sighed and decided to simply give in instead of arguing. He looked at the menu that was nailed to the wall behind her and considered his options. It seemed there were already pre-made milkshake flavors, but there was also the option of creating one’s own milkshake, which was what Dean had gone for. After looking it over, he decided to leave the creativity to Dean and chose a basic milkshake. “Strawberry and banana milkshake,” he said.

“Size?”

“Large,” Dean promptly answered.

Castiel gave him a look. “Actually, I’d like mine small.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine, but don’t go whining to me when you finish yours and you’re still craving for more.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” Castiel replied dryly.

The woman laughed. “You make such a cute couple,” she complimented them before giving them the total for the shakes.

Castiel hastily corrected her. “We’re not a couple.”

Dean grinned and paid the woman. “We’re just friends,” he concurred.

The woman quirked her brow. “Well, you’d make a cute couple.”

“I know,” Dean said, and he leaned over the counter, getting as close to the brunette as it allowed. “But I think you and I would make a cute couple, too.” 

Castiel looked away to hide his grimace. He wondered if it was even possible for Dean not to flirt with someone while they were out. His mission to stop Dean from being a man-whore sometimes seemed hopeless whenever he saw Dean making eyes at someone else, and it annoyed him how quick some people were to respond. Every time someone fell into bed with Dean, they were pretty much aiding and abetting his philandering, even though they didn’t know it.

The woman chuckled and blushed, a pink shade brushing her cheekbones. She glanced at the burly man working behind the counter making their milkshakes. “Don’t let my boyfriend hear that, or he’ll put you in the blender.”

Castiel instantly brightened. “He’s your boyfriend?”

The woman nodded and winked at Dean. “Another lifetime, maybe.” She handed him his change.

Dean returned the wink with one of his own. “I’ll hold you to that.” He took the change and stepped aside.

As they quietly waited for their orders, Castiel observed the woman and man interact as they made their milkshakes. She giggled and pecked the man on his cheek, speaking in a language that sounded like Spanish. They were obviously in love, and Castiel glanced at Dean.

“Ever thought about finding someone to settle down with?” The question was out before Castiel could stop it, and he flushed when Dean looked at him in puzzlement. He hadn’t even meant to ask that question, it just came out of nowhere.

“Where did that come from?” Dean asked.

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t exactly plan for Dean to find out about Castiel’s personal mission to get him to stop sleeping around with everything on two legs, but now that the question was out, he couldn’t take it back. He might as well go with it and see if maybe he could actually make some progress with his mission. “It’s just—how long are one night stands going to be enough?”

Dean sighed. “Cas, I told you. Relationships aren’t in my future when very few people want to be with a convicted felon.”

“How can you be sure that there isn’t someone out there who won’t let that get in the way of wanting to be with you? There are billions of people on this earth, I highly doubt there isn’t one person who will fall in love with you despite your past.”

“I’m not willing to wait around for that person to show up. I have better things to do.”

“Like screw everyone you meet?”

“I do not!”

Castiel shrugged and leaned against the wall, one of the blenders shrieking in the air. It drowned out the low music playing from the parlor’s speakers. “Maybe if you give yourself a chance, you might find someone who won’t care about what anyone else says about your past actions. They’ll just see the real you.” He looked at Dean, and found Dean staring right back at him. “Don’t you want that?”

Dean swallowed and ducked his head. “Life isn’t that easy, because if it was then I would already have that with—” 

Castiel straightened and gaped at Dean, who looked distinctly uncomfortable and was grimacing. “With who?” Dean looked away and Castiel grabbed his arm, jostling it. “Dean? Is there someone you’re interested in?”

“Cas—”

“Dean.”

Castiel refused to be deterred, and stared Dean down until he cursed lowly and glared at him. “Fine, yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean shrugged, and Castiel huffed in exasperation. “Who is it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Dean, tell me.”

Dean held out for several seconds before he muttered, “Lisa.”

Castiel wrinkled his nose. _Lisa_. “Lisa who?”

“Lisa Braeden.”

Now that Castiel had confirmation and a name he felt—not as exhilarated as he thought. He felt a little strange, actually, like a few stones had settled at the pit of his stomach. “Have you asked her out?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why not? You’re not the kind of guy to hold back when you want someone.” Castiel was tempted to remind him of what happened last month, when Dean had kissed Castiel and completely disregarded the fact that he was married. He didn’t, though, and made a guess when Dean didn’t answer his question. “You’re afraid she’ll find out about your conviction.”

Dean tightened his lips, looking thoughtful. “Yep,” he stated along with a nod of his head. “That’s exactly it. It’s just like I told you, not many people are willing to date an ex-convict. Better to stick with my one-night stands and enjoy some hot sex than bother with questions that will probably leave me out cold. Plenty of people are willing to fuck me so long as they don’t know the truth.”

Castiel hated the way Dean talked about himself, as though he was some kind of slut who was only good for sex and nothing else. “You can’t go through life sleeping with strangers, Dean. It’s not healthy.”

“It works for me.”

A good friend would encourage Dean to go after who he wanted. A good friend would lend him advice on how to shift the situation in Dean’s favor. Castiel wanted to be a good friend, so it only made sense for him to help Dean find a way to show Lisa he was interested. It would be good for Dean, especially if Lisa turned out to be a smart and understanding woman who was willing to actually listen to Dean’s side of the story when it came to his criminal record. 

It was, surprisingly, a struggle to get his mouth to say what he knew he should say when the stones in his belly became heavier. He wondered if he ate something bad at the restaurant, and hoped it wasn’t an initial symptom of food poisoning.

Putting that line of thought on hold, he managed to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth to encourage Dean to pursue and to raise his low confidence. 

“You should take a chance, Dean. You never know what could happen. You’re a good man and if this Lisa is as brilliant as I think she is because only a brilliant person would capture your attention, then I think she’ll see right past your prison sentence and accept the real story of what happened that night. She’ll see the man I see.”

Dean scrutinized him. “What man do you see?”

“I see someone who loves deeply, who’s fiercely protective, and who’s a much better man than most men living in this city.”

Dean perked up a little. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Castiel repeated with a quirk of his lips.

His little pep talk seemed to have done the trick, because Dean stood a little taller, and his shoulders were no longer slumped in defeat. “You’re right.” He glanced over when their orders were called. “Maybe she’ll come around and realize that I’ve been right here waiting for her.”

As Dean ambled to the counter to retrieve their milkshakes, Castiel turned over what Dean said. The wording seemed a little disconnected to what they were talking about. Castiel had been encouraging him to make a move on her, but Dean made it sound like he was going to wait for _her_ to make a move on _him_ instead. At the very least, he boosted Dean’s confidence, and he was glad. It lightened the heavy weight in Castiel’s stomach that had been bothering him.

He flinched when something frigid touched his cheek. He turned and had to jerk back from a pink milkshake that was shoved towards his face. He gave Dean a dark look, who laughed at his reaction. “Go on, take it.”

Castiel grabbed the clear cup in his gloved hands and peered down at the thick straw sticking out of the hole in the middle of the plastic top. The cup was small, at least, but he still didn’t think he could finish it. He stared at it dubiously.

A loud slurping noise caught his attention. Dean was smiling around his straw as he took a big gulp of his brown-colored milkshake. He smacked his lips and shivered. “Now that is one delicious milkshake,” he said with a wink. “You’ll have room for this. Trust me.”

Castiel examined his milkshake closely. “What’s so special about them, anyway?”

Dean rolled his eyes and placed the palm of his hand against the bottom of Castiel’s milkshake. He pushed it upwards, angling his hand until the tip of the straw poked Castiel’s chin. “Just try it, angel. I swear, they’re fucking awesome. Thick and creamy, baby.”

When Dean poked him again with the straw, Castiel huffed and moved his cup away from Dean. He took a sip, and flavor exploded across his tongue. While the taste of strawberries was strong, he could catch a hint of the banana. “Wow,” he murmured around his straw. He reconsidered the notion of being too full to have dessert.

“Good, right?” Dean took another sip of his milkshake and groaned. “Baby, where have you been all my life?”

Castiel smiled slightly. “Should I leave you two alone?”

“Probably not. Who knows what we’ll get up to without proper supervision.” Castiel laughed, and Dean’s eyes twinkled. He jerked his chin towards the door and began heading towards it. Castiel followed suit. “Told you it was delicious.”

“Yes, yes, you were right. I’ll buy you a medal.”

They spent a few minutes walking down the street in silence, enjoying their individual milkshakes. As good as it was he was right in asking for the small size. He was quickly reaching the point where he doubted he could consume anything even if he wanted to. He glanced around the stores they passed, absently noticing the dressed mannequins on store window displays and restaurant menus taped outside dining establishments. 

He glanced at Dean, taking in his blissful expression. He looked so at ease walking along the sidewalk among people who he didn’t have to intimidate or keep an eye on. It was all so normal, and the realization astonished him. They were friends who were hanging out together, talking and laughing and having a good time while sipping milkshakes in cold weather. Castiel had never thought that they would reach this point, to simply be two normal ordinary people who were doing ordinary things. He had certainly imagined it plenty of times, but that had just been pictures in his head. 

It felt so good to actually experience the real thing.

After a while of comfortable silence, Castiel asked, “How’s your baby coming along?”

Dean grinned. “She’ll be as good as new in a few weeks. In fact, if I didn’t have a new client coming by tomorrow, she would’ve been done in a week.”

Castiel used the straw to mix his milkshake. “What new client?”

“A guy wants his 1969 Chevrolet Camaro restored. According to what he told Bobby, he bought it off some guy who really let it fall into disrepair.” Dean clucked his tongue and shook his head in disappointment. “I just don’t get how anyone can stop caring about their cars. It’s, like, a freaking sin or something.”

Castiel took a sip of his milkshake and shivered. Not only was he consuming a cold beverage, it was a lot colder now than it was just one hour ago, so the only heat he was getting was what his jacket generated. Dean, on the other hand, didn’t seem all that bothered, happily gulping down his milkshake like it was water and not showing any signs of being cold. “How long will it take to restore?”

“Depends on what I see when I look the car over. The guy is bringing it in for Bobby to look at tomorrow. I’ll be checking it out once the guy leaves so I can see what I have to work with.”

Castiel gave him a side-long glance. “So is that how you two work? He makes the negotiations and agreements and then you work on the cars out of sight?”

Dean grimaced and nodded. “It’s better that way. Being a mechanic is a little bit easier to get away with because all I’m doing is fixing simple things, like a broken hose or shitty breaks. They tell me what’s happening, I locate the problem, I fix it, and then I send them on their way. They don’t pay much attention to me, especially when there are three other mechanics working in Bobby’s shop.”

“Do the other mechanics know about your record?”

“The mechanics? They’re parolees, too.” Castiel’s eyebrows shot up, and Dean laughed softly. “Why are you surprised? You know Bobby has a record himself, small as it might be. He has a soft spot for men who are trying to change their lives around. He also has a rifle, so if any of us get out of line, he ain’t afraid to use it.” He paused in front of a window that displayed clothing for men. Dean looked at the clothes with faint interest, particularly at the leather jacket hanging off one of the mannequins. “We have one rule. Don’t talk about our records. It’s our business. If we want to share, fine, and if we’re that curious, we can always look on the internet, but no one expects story time.” He turned to Castiel. “But I know Bobby, and he doesn’t give second chances to those who don’t deserve it.” He finished off the rest of his milkshake. “Bobby’s customers don’t bother getting to know us to fix the little things with their cars. But his clients that want restoration? They’re dropping a good chunk of money to get that done, so they usually want a little more information about the man who is going to do it, and since restoration generally leads to multiple meetings between client and restorer . . .”

“You’re afraid they’ll eventually figure out your past,” Castiel finished when Dean trailed off.

“Exactly. I don’t want to take the chance, and neither does Bobby, so he’s pretty much the front while I restore the cars out of sight.” He shrugged. “I don’t mind it. I make good money off the commissions, which makes up for the lack of hours I get at Bobby’s shop. I might even get into restoring cars full time once I have a nice cushion in my savings account.”

Castiel took another sip of his milkshake. “And you like that? Restoring cars.”

“Fuck, yeah. The older the model, the better. My dad had bought the Impala before he and my mom were married. After my dad died, he left the car to me and Sammy, but Sammy doesn’t love the car the way I do so I ended up with it. I think my baby was the start of my obsession of older cars. They’re just classic and original. None of that modern technology crap.”

“Nothing wrong with a little bit of technology.” Castiel rather enjoyed having the iPod dock in his car.

“Nothing wrong with cassette tapes, either.” Dean shrugged. “But to each his own, I guess. I like what I like, and whenever I get my hands in an engine of a car decades old, I feel like I’m sinking my hands into fucking nirvana.” 

Castiel smiled. “You sound happy.”

“I’m happy with my job. Bobby has done a lot for me.”

Castiel had never met Bobby, but he had heard so much about him that he felt like he knew the older man. He was grateful to him for giving Dean this second chance. Castiel could see how much good it was doing, keeping him grounded and preventing him from getting into any kind of trouble. Dean’s life might not ever be normal, but he had something that was close to it, and that was more than most ex-convicts got.

Castiel finished his milkshake and tossed it in the nearest trash can, Dean following suit. Castiel rubbed his hands together, grateful for the gloves Dean had let him borrow. Otherwise, that milkshake would have given him frostbite.

“So I was thinking,” Dean said, “that maybe you and I can go to the fair this weekend.”

Every year, the county held a fair for the residents, and while it wasn’t as huge or popular as some other fairs seen on television or read about in the newspapers, Castiel knew it was large enough to entertain the locals. He hadn’t been to a fair since he was a child, though, not since the days when his family had still been intact rather than spread around the world. He wasn’t even sure if he liked it all that much, but since it was Dean asking, he already knew his answer. 

He was just about to say yes when he remembered that he couldn’t go with Dean. He barely resisted the urge to pout.

“I’m going with Balthazar,” he answered regrettably. “A friend of his gave us two-prepaid tickets for this Saturday.”

Dean frowned in disappointment. “I see.” Dean focused on his shoes as they walked, nearly bumping into another man coming from the opposite direction and muttering an apology.

Castiel bit his lip. When Balthazar had shown him the tickets to the fair, Castiel hadn’t been particularly excited to go, but figured that it would be a pleasant outing that would get them out of the house and allow them to spend some quality time together. 

Now, he couldn’t help but wish that Dean had asked first. While he was sure he would have a good time with his husband, he knew that it would be ten times better if he was going with Dean. Dean would likely eat everything on sight, no matter how disgusting the food was, and he’d want to go on every ride, even if it looked unstable and unsafe. Balthazar would no doubt reject any of the deep fried offerings, and while he might enjoy the games and get on a ride or two, he’d probably avoid the crazier rides due to safety concerns. Castiel knew his husband better than anyone, and he had a comfort zone. Castiel usually stayed in that zone with him.

Dean wasn’t the kind of man to let anyone stay within their comfort zone. That was the only reason why Castiel had stopped giving a damn about fucking around in the men’s shower room at the prison. Privacy had been hard to get, and being fucked by Dean had tended to push any rational thoughts right outside his head, to the point where Castiel hadn’t even cared about other inmates watching them.

“If he didn’t have tickets already, I would’ve liked going to the fair with you,” Castiel said, trying to make Dean feel better. Their fingers brushed as they walked, and Castiel thought about shifting away, but stayed put, letting their fingers continue touching. 

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean assured him, though he still looked let down. “I just thought it’d be something we can do.”

Castiel watched Dean out of the corner of his eye, and it occurred to him that the last time Dean had gone to a fair had probably been as a teenager, before his arrest. It only made him all that more regretful that he was declining Dean’s invitation. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“It’s fine, angel.” Dean nudged his arm. “Have a deep fried twinkie for me, okay?” 

Castiel pulled a face. “That doesn’t sound appealing.”

“I heard they’re divine.” He stretched his arms high above his head. “You know what, I might just go ahead and deep fry my own twinkie.” 

“Do you have a deep fryer?” Castiel asked.

“Bobby probably has one. I can borrow it from him.”

“You’ll have to let me know how that goes.”

Dean winked at him and lowered his arms. “Or maybe you’ll have to be there to see it for yourself.”

Castiel’s heart stuttered. “Are you inviting me to your home?” He had never been to Dean’s home, having always met him in public locations. The only place they’ve ever been together alone was in Dean’s car on the rare occasion when Dean picked him up to go out. 

“It’s technically Bobby’s home. I’m just crashing there, remember?” Dean blew out a breath, and Castiel could see it in the air. Dean had to be cold, but when Castiel offered his gloves back, Dean just shook his head. Stubborn ass. “I’m still looking for my own place,” Dean continued. He stopped walking and turned to face Castiel. “Maybe you can visit me when I find it, help decorate or something. Give me a plant.”

“A plant,” Castiel repeated in bewilderment as his steps slowed to a stop. “What makes you think I’ll give you a plant?”

“Isn’t that the standard housewarming gift? That or a blender?”

Castiel blinked, then laughed. “Don’t forget the toaster,” he said with a snicker.

“True that.” Dean rolled his neck, his snake-cross tattoo briefly showing from where it hid beneath the collar of his jacket. “So, don’t forget to eat the twinkie for me.”

Castiel sighed dramatically. “Fine. I promise to eat the disgusting deep-fried twinkie.”

Dean lifted his hand. “Pinkie promise.”

Castiel stared at Dean’s hand, pinkie extended. It was childish and silly, but seeing the small offering made Castiel ache. They had done that the day Castiel left the prison. Castiel had pinkie swore that he would write and call Dean, and he never did. He lifted his gaze to stare at Dean’s face. He saw no malice or bitterness, even though this had to remind Dean of the promises he had broken. He had proved himself incapable of keeping his promises when they mattered.

Yet there Dean stood, looking content and expectant, and Castiel blinked as he suddenly realized what Dean was doing. This was not just about the deep-fried twinkie. Yes, Dean likely did realize the irony of what he was doing, but he wasn’t shoving Castiel’s broken promises in his face to make him feel bad. Rather, Dean was offering some kind of olive branch, turning something that had become tainted into something good again.

Castiel lifted his hand and linked their pinkies together, curling their small fingers. He didn’t look away from Dean’s face as he said, “Pinkie promise.” He was going to make sure he kept that promise. He was done breaking promises.

**

As predicted, being with Balthazar at the fair was just okay. They walked around, played the games, got on the Ferris wheel, but Balthazar didn’t want to try any of the more experimental culinary offerings. It discouraged Castiel from doing the same. At least until they reached a booth selling the deep-fried twinkies.

Balthazar grimaced. “Are you seriously going to try that?”

Castiel handed over a bill to the cashier. “Of course. Dean told me to.”

“If he told you to jump off a bridge, would you?”

Castiel shot him a look for his sarcasm. Balthazar was frowning at him. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing. Just saying that you don’t have to eat something you don’t want to, especially when it looks disgusting.” 

Castiel rolled his eyes and accepted his twinkie. They walked away from the stand and Castiel made a face at the texture as he touched it. It didn’t look appetizing at all, and his stomach revolted at the idea of consuming it. Still, he made a promise to Dean that he’d try it, and knowing that man, he’d probably expect a report or something.

After a slight hesitation, he took a deep breath and bit into it. Castiel froze, holding the chewed off piece on his tongue and suffering the most disgusted flavor he had ever tried. His jaw trembled with the effort not to spit it out like he was tempted to, but he was unwilling to actually chew and swallow it down, either. He was torn on what to do.

Balthazar laughed. “I told you, you shouldn’t have tried it.”

Castiel closed his eyes and reluctantly began to chew before painfully swallowing it. He shuddered as it went down his throat. He stuck out his tongue several times, rubbing it against the roof of his mouth and the top of his teeth, trying to get rid of the horrible taste. 

“So,” Balthazar said, drawing out the word. “How was it?”

“Shut up,” Castiel muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Balthazar chuckled again. “I’ll get you some lemonade.”

As he walked away, Castiel looked around for the nearest trashcan. He threw the twinkie away and took out his phone from his front pocket. He quickly shot Dean a text, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste the twinkie had left behind.

**To Dean: Deep fried twinkie is disgusting. I think I’ll pass on your version of it.**

**From Dean: LOL. You haven’t even tried mine, angel.**

**To Dean: Don’t care. I don’t want to try one ever again.**

**From Dean: I’ll get you to change your mind.**

**To Dean: Don’t count on it.**

**From Dean: LOL. You having fun?**

He leaned against a light pole, glancing around until he spotted Balthazar in line at the closest lemonade stand. **To Dean: It’s okay.**

**From Dean: Okay? A fair shouldn’t just be okay.**

Castiel tightened his lips, considering his response. Dean was right. A fair was supposed to be fun. It was what made them so popular. It was a place to play games, get on rides, and eat all the different kinds of food available. He looked up at the faint screams of riders as a roller coaster tipped over the metallic hill and soared down the rails, winding around at a scary speed. The line to get on it was long, and he could see the excited and nervous expressions on the visitors’ faces. He typed a text. 

**To Dean: Balthazar doesn’t want to get on the rides.**

**From Dean: You don’t need Balthazar to get on the rides.**

Castiel looked up at the roller coaster again. As he thought over Dean’s words, he pushed away from the pole and headed to a ticket booth to buy tickets to get on the ride. They were ridiculously expensive, but he handed over a few bills and accepted his tickets with a smile. He went to Balthazar, who was just walking away from the lemonade stand. He showed him the tickets.

“I bought tickets for the roller coaster,” he announced. “Actually, I bought tickets to get on a few more rides, but I want to get on the roller coaster first.”

Balthazar frowned. “I don’t want to get on the roller coaster.” He held out the lemonade. “You don’t know how stable that thing is.”

Castiel took his lemonade and stuffed his tickets into his back pocket. “It seems to be working fine to me,” he said, shoving away the tendrils of nerves that were already wrapping around him at the thought of getting on the roller coaster. He quickly took a drink, taking long sips until the taste of deep-fried twinkie was gone. “And I wasn’t asking if you wanted to get on it. I’m saying that I’m going to.” He headed towards the line, throwing Balthazar a glance over his shoulder. His husband was gaping at him, flicking his gaze between the coaster and Castiel. “You’re welcome to join me.”

He got in line behind a group of chatty teenage girls. He glanced back at where he had left Balthazar, and found his husband settling on a bench, looking less than pleased. Castiel shot him a look before nodding at the coaster, silently asking his husband to join him. Balthazar arched a brow and glanced at the coaster. He firmly shook his head. 

Castiel sighed in disappointment. He faced forward and took a sip of his lemonade before placing it in the crook of his elbow and taking out his phone.

**To Dean: I’m getting on the roller coaster.**

**From Dean: Good boy.**

He read the text over and over as the line moved. _Good boy_. The words were likely meant to be teasing, a jest on Dean’s part, but it had Castiel puffing out his chest in pride, feeling like he had accomplished something grand and wonderful when all he was really doing was getting on one measly little ride. 

He blew out a breath and tucked his phone back into his pocket. There was another fair opening early next spring. He knew Dean would want to go with him, and he smiled. He already looked forward to it.

**

When his phone beeped, Castiel tore his eyes away from the television, set aside his mug, and grabbed his phone from the side table. He smiled at the picture Dean had sent him. It was the cover of a book titled _How to Deep-Fry the Perfect Twinkie (and then some)._

**To Dean: Where did you find that?**

**From Dean: Online retailer. Google is my new best friend. You can find anything on it.**

Castiel laughed. Balthazar shifted next to him, their legs bumping against each other as they lay on opposite ends of the couch. “What’s so funny?”

Castiel glanced up. Balthazar was peering above the book he held open in front of him. “Nothing.” Looking down at his phone, he thumbed the tiny virtual keyboard. “Just Dean.”

**To Dean: Yeah, I know. I accidentally stumbled on lesbian porn at one point.**

**From Dean: How the hell did you end up on lesbian porn?**

**To Dean: No clue.**

**From Dean: LOL. Yeah, there’s nothing there for you to appreciate, is there?**

Castiel snorted and shook his head. **To Dean: Just because I’m not attracted to the female form doesn’t mean that I don’t recognize beauty when I see it.**

“I can’t really concentrate when you’re making noises.”

Castiel lowered his phone and glowered at Balthazar. His husband was carefully turning a page of his book, seemingly relaxed. Castiel knew better. There was a fine line between being relaxed, and being _too_ relaxed. “What is your problem?” he snapped.

Balthazar looked at him for a moment before he set his book down on his lap and sat up straight. “What did Dean text you?”

Castiel gave him a confused stare. “What?”

“You heard me. What did he text you? What’s making you laugh? What are you two talking about?”

“Why are you asking me stupid questions?”

Balthazar huffed in irritation and got off the couch. “They’re not stupid.”

Castiel set aside his phone and the bowl of popcorn he had in his lap before standing up as well. Balthazar was tense, worry glinting in his eyes, and Castiel furrowed his brow. “Balthazar, what’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that it seems for the past couple of months, you and Dean have become close.”

“Well, yes.” Castiel tilted his head to the side in, puzzled. “He’s my friend.”

“Yes, I know. You’ve told me that. You talk about him a lot. Every day, actually.” Balthazar ran his hand through his hair, and Castiel could see how irritated and frustrated he was. “And you talk to him every day, too.” 

“Do I?” He didn’t like the accusatory tone in Balthazar’s words, like he was rebuking him for something. He wasn’t going to deny that he and Dean have become close over the last several weeks, their friendship growing and strengthening, but he didn’t understand what had Balthazar so irritated. He hadn’t mentioned anything about not wanting Castiel to hang out with Dean. 

He didn’t want to aggravate Balthazar any further, though, so he tried to defuse the conversation before it became something much more than that. He gave a self-deprecating laugh and tried to act casual. “I didn’t realize.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Balthazar crossed his arms, and Castiel’s smile drained at Balthazar’s hard expression “You always seem like you’re in your own little world whenever you talk about him, not to mention the number of times you stay out late with him, like that time you got home at three in the morning drunk off your ass—”

“I haven’t done it again, have I?” Castiel interrupted, disliking how Balthazar was bringing that up again.

“No, you haven’t,” Balthazar acknowledged. “But you know, I’ve been trying really hard not to let it get to me, but it’s a little suspicious when my husband starts to spend more time going out and talking and texting some friend than he does spending time with me.”

Castiel was stupefied, and yet he wasn’t so stunned not to see what Balthazar was implying. Now he knew what Balthazar was rebuking him for. “You think I’m cheating on you.” It wasn’t a question. It was a clear statement of fact, and Castiel wanted to be indignant at the false accusation, but what it really did was strike fear in him. He reminded himself that Balthazar didn’t know anything about his previous infidelity, but it didn’t take away the anxiety of where Balthazar’s current suspicions might lead him to. 

“Are you?”

“No,” Castiel answered sharply, even though the guilt for his past sins threatened to choke him. He couldn’t let Balthazar see that, though. He had to act like he had never even thought about being with anyone else. “I’m not cheating on you. Dean is my friend, and yes, maybe we do talk on the phone a lot and see each other often, but we’re simply catching up. That’s it. Nothing is going on.”

Balthazar didn’t fully believe him. Castiel could see it in his eyes, the way they watched him with a glimmer of mistrust. Castiel never thought he’d see that in his husband’s eyes, and it hurt him. “You know what?” Balthazar tilted his chin upwards. “I think it’s high time I meet this Dean of yours.”

Castiel started at the suggestion. “Meet him?” he asked, tone becoming a little too high-pitched.

He knew his reaction was the wrong one when Balthazar narrowed his eyes. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?”

“No,” Castiel quickly denied. “It’s just—why do you want to meet him? You never showed interest in Dean before.”

“Oh, I have, especially these last few weeks.” Balthazar arched a brow, watching him closely. “He could come here for dinner next week.” 

Castiel wanted to say no, that Dean wasn’t free next week, because having Dean and Balthazar in the same room together? Bad idea. Castiel’s secrets could come out if he wasn’t careful, not to mention how awkward it would be to have his former lover eating dinner next to his husband. That was a recipe for disaster. One small slip of the tongue and all of Castiel’s secrets could come tumbling out, one right after the other. He had already given Balthazar vague answers to questions regarding his past with Dean, and if he asked something and the response wasn’t consistent to all the other things he said, Balthazar would notice. He’d demand an explanation, and then Castiel would have to try to cover it up, but if he didn’t have a good enough answer, Balthazar would press for more, and then—

“Cas?” Balthazar prompted. He was watching him suspiciously. 

Castiel realized he had been silent for too long. He needed to say something. “Balthazar . . .”

Balthazar’s eyes flared for a moment. “Yes, my love?”

A knot tightened in Castiel’s belly. He was sweating; he could practically feel small beads of nervous moisture gathering on his skin. He tried to figure out a way to get out of this, but with the way Balthazar was looking at him—Castiel knew he couldn’t get out of it without having to reveal why. That was something he couldn’t do. Balthazar wanted to meet Dean, and if Castiel tried to avoid it, it would only feed whatever thoughts were already festering in Balthazar’s head. It seemed he couldn’t win either way, and in the end Castiel decided it was better to just give into Balthazar’s demand. There was less chance of him crashing and burning if he didn’t fight it.

“I’ll see if he’s free next week,” he said grudgingly.

Balthazar nodded, pleased. “Good. Tell him he could choose the time.”

“I’ll let him know,” Castiel said tightly and tried to smile, but there was little enthusiasm in the attempt. He turned away when he felt his facial muscles not cooperating. He couldn’t shake the sense of dread that curled around his shoulders. This was such a bad, bad idea.

Later, while Balthazar headed towards their attached bathroom for his nightly shower, Castiel got ready for bed. He preferred to shower in the morning, wanting to feel clean and fresh for the day while Balthazar much preferred to shower at night right before bed, not wanting to dirty the sheets. 

He strained his ears, following the sound of the door being shut—but not locked—and the shower turning on. He carefully walked towards the door and pressed his ear against it. Under the sound of the shower, he heard the glass shower door opening and closing. A few seconds later, Balthazar’s low singing reached his ear, and only then did Castiel return to bed, feet quickly padding across the lush carpet.

He slid under the covers and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. He speed-dialed Dean, and chewed on his bottom lip as it rang. 

“Hey, angel,” Dean greeted when he picked up. “What’s up?”

Castiel cut to the chase. “He wants to meet you.” He kept one eye on the bathroom door.

“Who?”

“Balthazar.” Castiel leaned back against the headboard and drew up his knees. “I couldn’t dissuade him.”

Contrary to what Castiel thought would be Dean’s reaction, Dean didn’t sound bothered or worried at all. “All right, then,” he responded easily. “When do we meet?”

“Seriously?” Castiel asked in surprise. “That’s all you can say?”

“If he wants to meet me, I kinda need to know a time.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and he lightly slapped his forehead. “Dean, you do realize how disastrous this can turn out, right?”

“I fully realize that, Cas, but what can we do? You already said you couldn’t get him to change his mind. Besides, I saw this coming.”

“You did?”

Dean laughed softly. “Cas, you and I see each other every week, and we’ve been doing that for the past two months. We spend a lot of time together, and you’ve told me yourself how you sometimes bailed on Balthazar to be with me. We text and call each other all the time. I’m pretty sure he started to suspect something was going on since that night you got home drunk. Remember? You told me how pissed he was about that. How long did you think Balthazar was going to last before he started to think some hanky-panky was going on?”

“I’m not cheating on him,” Castiel snapped. 

“Hey, I’m not the one you need to convince.”

Castiel closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to snap at you or whatever. I’m just—” He sighed and opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. “Dean, if he finds out the truth, he’ll never forgive me.”

“I know,” Dean said quietly. 

Castiel looked down at his knees and scratched at the covers idly. “He can’t find out about us.” He straightened, determination running through him. “Dean, we need to come up with some plausible story to explain how you and I know each other. It has to be airtight, and we have to make sure that we don’t say anything that would make Balthazar suspect who you are.” 

“As in the man you cheated on him with, or the man convicted for murdering his best friend?”

“Both.” He bumped his head against the headboard when he let it fall back. “He’ll be furious if he ever finds out we screwed around, but even if he doesn’t find out about that, he’ll never let me see you if he learns that you killed someone, no matter the reasons why you did it.”

“Of course not,” Dean said bitterly. “No one wants to hear the real story.”

Hearing the bitterness, all of Castiel’s issues and worries were temporarily discarded as the instinct to comfort Dean took precedence. “I know the real story.”

There was a long pause. “You have no idea how glad I am of that.”

Castiel smiled slightly, but it fell away quickly. “I’m sorry, Dean, for putting you through this.”

“Putting me through what?”

“This. Making you meet my husband. Asking you to lie so I can protect my own lying ass.”

Dean chuckled. “Angel, you’re not making me meet Balthazar. He’s making me. And I’ll do anything to protect your ass.” Ironically, the flirtatious tone put Castiel at ease. It was a small distraction from the stress he felt. “You have nothing to be sorry for, angel,” Dean continued. “I’m the one who walked back into your life. All you’re trying to do is be happy.” Dean’s voice lowered, words spoken softly. “I’d do anything for you if it means making you happy.”

Pleasant warmth filled him, and his cheek became hot. He was blushing again, and he lifted a hand to touch his heated skin. “Dean . . .” He trailed off. He wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure what. Thanking him didn’t seem enough. Dean’s words deserved more than that. _Dean_ deserved more than that.

He gasped when he heard the shower cut off. “I have to go,” he said frantically. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Wait, you haven’t told me when I’m supposed to meet Mr. Hubby.”

“Next week, whatever time works best for you.” 

“All right, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then. Good night, angel.”

“Good night.”

Castiel hanged up and put his phone on the nightstand before sliding down and turning on his side, tugging the covers up to his shoulders. His head settled on his plump pillow just as the bathroom door opened. Balthazar stepped out, followed by a faint cloud of steam, his skin rosy and moist from the hot shower. A white towel was securely wrapped around his waist. 

“You’re not going to stay up to read, love?” Balthazar said, heading towards the set of drawers near the closet.

“No,” Castiel murmured. “I’m a little tired. I think I’m just going to go to sleep.”

Balthazar made a sound of acknowledgment as he grabbed a pair of gray, well-worn sweatpants. He dropped the towel and slipped them on. “I was thinking of going out to dinner tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?” 

“Just a quick dinner. We rarely go out anymore. We can even try that sushi place you’ve wanted to go to.”

Castiel didn’t dare admit that Dean had already taken him there. Castiel had wanted to go there for months from the moment it opened, especially when it was just ten minutes away, but Balthazar wasn’t a fan of sushi and none of Castiel’s friends or co-workers lived close enough to make it worth the drive. Since Castiel felt odd sitting down at a restaurant by himself, he had resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to get a chance to try it. When he casually mentioned it to Dean, however, within days Castiel had been eating the best sushi he had ever tasted.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that mere hours after Balthazar practically accused him of being unfaithful and demanded he meet Dean, he was now suggesting they try out a restaurant that Balthazar hadn’t been interested in going to before. Balthazar was so nonchalant about it that Castiel doubted his proposition for a date night was as simple as that. He wasn’t going to call him out on it like a juvenile kid, though, especially when Balthazar was trying to do something there. Maybe he was trying to make some kind of point or maybe he wanted them to spend time together to reconnect, because their earlier conversation made it clear that there was friction in their marriage that hadn’t been there before. 

“I’d like that.” He tried to sound excited.

Balthazar was smiling as he walked towards the bed, but the smile was a little brittle. “Brilliant.”

Castiel felt the bed dip as Balthazar slipped in next to him. Castiel sighed and got more comfortable, curling up a little. The lamp by their bed clicked off, and Balthazar shifted around on his side of the bed. Once he stopped moving, Castiel glanced over his shoulder and in the cover of darkness, his eyes met Balthazar’s bare back. “Good night,” he whispered.

“Night.”

Castiel settled his head back on his pillow. He could hear Balthazar breathing in the silence of their bedroom, and it wasn’t long before his husband’s breaths evened out, indicating sleep.

Castiel didn’t have the same luxury of falling asleep quickly. He still felt out of sorts from the past few hours, and with no noise to distract him, his mind began to wander. It led to possible scenarios of Balthazar finding out the truth and the consequences that followed, most of which involved blood and bruises. He was so worried and couldn’t relax enough to go to sleep.

After a while of tossing and turning, he finally settled on his side again, only this time he was facing the other way. Balthazar had turned on his back at some point, and his head was facing Castiel. He took in the blond’s slack features. Balthazar looked tranquil, and Castiel wondered if he was having happy dreams. He hoped so. 

Castiel lifted a hand and rubbed the back of one finger down Balthazar’s cheek. “Sorry,” he whispered.

He had so many things to be sorry for, and Balthazar didn’t even know the half of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos!

Castiel grunted and put down the comb, giving up on his hair. He peered into the full-length mirror and looked over his face, making sure there were no embarrassing marks or stray hairs. He stepped back and looked down at himself, tugging at his long-sleeved blue shirt and brushing his black jeans to remove any lint. He grabbed his black cotton socks and slipped them on before looking at the mirror again. He looked okay, comfortable, and not at all like he was dressing up for someone. 

Nope, definitely not dressing up for anyone, especially not for Dean, who was due to arrive in—Castiel looked at his phone—just a few minutes. His anxiety spiked. Jesus, Castiel was sure he was on the verge of a heart attack. 

He and Dean had already come up with a backstory that was as close to the truth as they could get without giving away who Dean was. They practiced it over and over so they wouldn’t forget the details, and prepared themselves for any possible questions Balthazar might have for them. If everything went well, Balthazar’s suspicions would be put to rest and he and Dean could continue with their outings in peace. If everything went to hell, Balthazar might possibly kill him.

He looked up and in the mirror’s reflection, he caught Balthazar peeking his head around the door of their bedroom. “Roast and potatoes are ready to go.”

Castiel turned and walked towards him. “What about the rice?”

“Sitting in the rice cooker.” Balthazar stepped back out into the hallway.

Castiel glanced at the mirror once more, checking himself out one last time before exiting the bedroom. He looked Balthazar over. His husband was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, his feet bare, and he mentally approved of his wardrobe choice. Castiel had been half-afraid that he would opt for sweats and a stained muscle shirt, or something equally inappropriate.

“Might as well set the table, then,” Castiel said. “You want to do that?”

The doorbell rang, and Castiel’s heart abruptly began to hammer against his chest. Dean had arrived. He inhaled and exhaled steadily, vainly trying to settle his nerves. It didn’t exactly help.

“Why do you look nervous?”

Balthazar’s question brought him out of his mild panic attack. Balthazar was staring at him hard, eyes flinty and cold, and tension flared brightly between them, thickening the air and making itself known like it had been doing for the past week. Even when they had gone out for sushi, conversation hadn’t flowed easily and it had been entirely stilted. The tension in the restaurant had followed them back home, and hadn’t left since then.

His denial was quick and he made sure to sound assertive when he said, “I’m not nervous.” Balthazar didn’t say anything, and Castiel twitched when the bell rang again. He glanced towards the stairs. “I should—”

“I can get it.” Balthazar headed towards the stairs. “You can set the table instead.”

Castiel followed him down the stairs. “But I can get it.” He didn’t want Balthazar to see Dean first. How they reacted to each other would set the tone for the rest of the night, and Castiel wanted to take control of that from the very first second Balthazar lay eyes on him. 

Unfortunately, Balthazar ignored him as went down the rest of the stairs and walked to the front door. Castiel stopped at the bottom of the stairs, defeated. He watched with trepidation as Balthazar opened the door.

His husband blocked the doorway, which made it difficult for Castiel to see Dean, but he heard him say, “You must be Balthazar.”

“And I’m assuming you’re Dean.”

Dean had sounded polite, maybe even a little friendly, but Balthazar sounded cold. There was no warm welcome in his tone, and Castiel briefly closed his eyes, looking upward and seeking guidance from a God he had stopped believing a long time ago. Going by the stiffness of his husband’s back and the silence that dragged on for several seconds, Castiel suspected that both men were eyeing each other, forming ideas and opinions about the other. None of them good, Castiel bet. 

Castiel approached the pair and nudged Balthazar hard. His husband frowned at him, but moved aside. Castiel gave him a hard look before turning to Dean, and all thoughts of Balthazar left. Dean looked good. He wore nice blue jeans tucked into brown boots and a light green shirt underneath his signature leather jacket. His hair was combed and still looked a bit wet, like he had just taken a shower before arriving. An image flashed in his mind of Dean wet and naked, and there was a twitch in Castiel’s crotch.

Dean smiled at him, and Castiel realized he was staring. A quick glance proved that it hadn’t passed Balthazar’s notice, if the way he was glaring at him was anything to go by. Certainly not the best way to assure him that Castiel wasn’t fucking around behind his back. 

“Hello, Dean,” he greeted warmly, though he tried not to make it too friendly. 

“Hey, Cas.” Dean held out his hand, bringing Castiel’s attention to the tin foiled plate he held. “Brought homemade apple pie.”

Castiel arched a brow. “You made it?” He grabbed the pie with both hands and brought it close to his face to take a whiff. The aroma made his mouth water.

“Thank you, Dean. You didn’t have to.” He looked at Balthazar, who continued to eye Dean disdainfully. “Wasn’t that nice, Balthazar?”

Balthazar made a face, lips stretching into some grotesque version of a smile. “I’m sure it’ll be delicious.” 

The words were far from sincere, and Castiel resisted the urge to kick him. Balthazar had wanted this dinner. He could at least pretend to make an effort and act like a grown-up rather than a child.

Huffing in exasperation, he focused on Dean. “Come on in.” He stepped back so Dean could step inside. It struck him that this was only the second time Dean had entered his home in the nearly two months since Dean’s return into his life. It took him back to his first visit, and he couldn’t help but glance at the wall where Dean had pressed him against. “Dinner is just about ready,” he stated as he led Dean to the dining room, quickly walking by the living room.

He glanced back as Dean inhaled deeply. Following closely was Balthazar, whose distaste was written all over his face like a neon sign. Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “Smells delicious,” Dean commented, glancing around as they walked down the short hallway and turned left to where the dining room was. “I’m starving. Haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

“No lunch?”

“Worked right through it. My newest client seems to think that I’m at his beck and call.”

“Client?” Balthazar asked, eyeing Dean up and down. 

“Yes, client,” Castiel answered, irritated at Balthazar’s demeanor. “I told you, Dean is a mechanic and restore cars on commission.”

“Oh, right.”

Castiel glared at him. He could practically hear the derision in Balthazar’s tone and sent Dean an apologetic look for his husband’s lack of manners. Dean didn’t seem bothered, but Castiel couldn’t be sure if Dean truly didn’t care what Balthazar thought of him or if he was just hiding it. Or maybe he decided to simply take the high road and ignore Balthazar’s attitude altogether. Whatever the reasoning, Castiel appreciated it, because he knew that Balthazar was going to use this dinner as an opportunity to push Dean’s buttons until he was certain that Dean was no threat.

As Dean removed his leather jacket, Castiel barely held in a groan when he realized that Dean had worn a short-sleeved shirt, thereby leaving his arms bare. He wasn’t surprised when Balthazar’s eyes zeroed in on them, and he wrinkled his nose in obvious distaste. He was embarrassed at the how obvious Balthazar was being, and a little annoyed that Dean hadn’t worn a long-sleeve. Who wore short sleeves in late October, anyway, when temperatures were currently below sixty?

He couldn’t do anything about Dean’s choice of wardrobe, but he could certainly handle Balthazar’s shitty insolence. He grabbed Balthazar’s sleeve and tugged him towards the kitchen. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable, Dean. I’ll bring you a beer and we’ll bring out the food.” He pulled Balthazar through the swinging door that separated the dining room and kitchen. Once they were safely through, he turned on Balthazar. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he hissed.

Balthazar put on an innocent face. “What do you mean?”

“Really, Balthazar?” Castiel walked forward and shoved Balthazar’s shoulder with his own. He reached the oven where the roast was being kept warm and opened it. “You’re going to pull that shit with me?” He grabbed an oven glove and grabbed the pan, pulling the roast out. “You’re the one who wanted to meet him, you’re the one who wanted this dinner to happen, but instead of acting like a generous host, you’re treating him like an uninvited stray dog begging for scraps.” He placed the roast on the counter and slammed the oven door closed. When he faced Balthazar again, his husband was looking away, but Castiel could still see the petulant expression on his face. “He’s my friend,” Castiel said sharply. “I won’t let you treat him like trash.”

“Even though he looks like it?”

Castiel’s mouth fell open. “What did you say?”

Balthazar sneered at him. “He has a huge tattoo of a snake wrapped around a cross on his neck, and he has even more tattoos covering his arms.”

He glared at Balthazar, wondering when Balthazar had developed a hatred for tattoos. “And I have a tattoo of a dragon wrapped around a tree on my left side. You didn’t complain much about it when you first saw it.” The tattoo was a drunken mistake he made at nineteen. He had thought about laser removal, but always hesitated to go through with it whenever he thought about the pain he’d have to endure afterwards.

“You don’t look like a gang member. He does!”

If that was enough to turn Balthazar off, then he could only wonder how he would react if Castiel told him that Dean’s body was practically adorned with colored ink. From the skull and crossbones resting on his back to the pentagram that sat on his chest, Dean had become a walking canvas of painted pictures and words in the twenty years he had spent behind bars. Tattoos weren’t just pretty art prisoners put on; they were a part of the culture. They expressed one’s status in the prison hierarchy, marked a prisoner’s loyalty to a gang, and made a prisoner look tough. That was one of the reasons why Dean got so many tattoos, especially those of scantily-clad or outright nude women. Dean had been proud of his bisexuality as a teenager, but if that knowledge had spread throughout the prison, Dean would have only been good for taking another man’s dick—willingly or forcefully. So he had gotten tattoos to look tough, to look as heterosexual as possible, and as his reputation grew, so had the number of tattoos on his body. As far as Castiel was aware, he was the only one Dean had confided in about his reasons behind getting so many, and Castiel had kissed and licked and touched each and every one of those tattoos lovingly.

“Besides, you can hide yours with a shirt,” Balthazar added harshly. He stepped forward and slapped his hands on the counter. “And it’s not just the tattoos, okay? I get a bad vibe from him.”

“A vibe,” Castiel repeated with disbelief.

“Yes.” Balthazar grunted and glared down. “He rubs me the wrong way.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and grabbed the roast and potatoes. “Grab the rice.”

“Cas—”

Castiel shot him a sharp look. “You’re going to actually spend more than thirty seconds to get to know Dean before you decide to hate him. Now grab the rice and bring it to the dining room.” With that, he carried the roast into the dining room.

Dean was fiddling with his phone when Castiel entered. He looked up and inhaled deeply as Castiel approached the table. “Now that looks good enough to eat,” Dean complimented, eyeing the roast.

Castiel smiled, pleased. “It’s going to taste good once you try it.” He set it on the table and returned to the kitchen as Balthazar was taking out the metallic bowl of rice from the rice cooker. Castiel bypassed him to reach the cabinets and began pulling out plates. 

“I still don’t like the vibe I get from him,” Balthazar said from behind him.

Castiel pulled out drawers to take out utensils. “Just take the rice out. And be nice. I know you can do that.”

Balthazar muttered under his breath. Castiel didn’t know what he was saying, but he was sure it was unpleasant. Once he had everything he needed, including napkins and Dean’s beer, he returned to the dining room behind Balthazar. Dean stood up to help, but Castiel shook his head. “Sit down, you’re our guest.”

Dean sat with his hands up, smiling. 

They set everything on the table, and Castiel filled the plates with food, passing one to Dean and Balthazar before making his own. He handed Dean the beer bottle and filled up his and Balthazar’s glasses with wine. He poured what he considered a good amount and lifted the bottle away from Balthazar’s glass, but Balthazar grabbed his wrist and tilted his hand, forcing Castiel to pour more into his wineglass. It was more than the usual amount of wine Balthazar drank, and it had him frowning in disapproval. 

When Balthazar released him, Castiel placed the bottle back in the bucket full of ice. Balthazar lifted his wine and with a very false smile he said, “Let’s dig in, shall we?”

Dean lifted a forkful of roast into his mouth. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a home cooked meal.”

“You told me once that you can cook,” Castiel said, recalling a memory from the early days of his relationship with Dean. The words slipped out too easily, he realized a moment later, and he held back a wince. Though the words were innocent enough, it served as a reminder that he couldn’t talk as freely as he usually did when he was with Dean. He had to tread carefully with what he said. Their backstory would only work if Castiel and Dean made sure not to insinuate anything that would directly lead Balthazar to the actual truth.

“I can cook, but not like this,” Dean answered. “No point if I’m the only one eating it, and Bobby can’t be bothered to cook, either.”

“Bobby?” Balthazar questioned, eyes narrowed. “That a friend?” From the way he said it, Castiel just knew that he was thinking of Bobby as a fellow gang member or something equally ridiculous.

“My adopted father,” Dean explained patiently. He took another bite of his meal and followed it with a sip of beer. “My parents died before I hit my teens, and Bobby was a family friend. He took in me and my brother.” Dean speared some more roast and made a rumbling sound after inserting it in his mouth. “This is fucking fantastic, Cas.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, warmth infusing him at the compliment. Dean gave him a little smile, and Castiel looked down at his plate to hide the heat he knew was visible on his cheeks. 

Conversation fell silent as they ate their meal. Nothing was heard except for the scrape of forks and knives against plates and the occasional hum of appreciation for the food (the latter mostly from Dean). The silence was eventually disrupted when Balthazar said, “So, Dean.”

Dean had been about to take a drink from his beer bottle, but it halted inches from his lips. “Yeah?” he asked, a little wary. Castiel couldn’t blame him. As patient and polite as Dean was, he wasn’t stupid enough not to see that Balthazar’s opinion of him was pretty low.

“What made you go into the mechanic business? Is that what you’ve always wanted to do?”

Balthazar seemed genuinely curious while asking the questions, and Dean exchanged a long glance with Castiel. “I’ve always liked cars. It started with the 1967 Impala my dad had. I helped fix her up a couple of times with my dad when I was younger, and I realized how much I enjoyed it. I moved on to vintage cars when Bobby took me in, and began restoring them. I even built a car up once. Had nothing but the engine to start with and a ratty mechanic book I got from Bobby. I was fourteen when I started it, and I was sixteen when I finished.” Dean shrugged. “It’s in my blood, I guess.”

“So did you go to college? Studied mechanical engineering or something like that?”

“Mechanical engineering has nothing to do with cars,” Dean said politely, and Castiel could see the flash of indignant embarrassment in Balthazar’s eyes. “And no, I really didn’t think I needed college to learn something I grew up already knowing. I took some classes instead and got a certificate.”

It was all true, even if the reasons behind Dean’s ‘decision’ not to go to college were false. Dean had once whispered to him that he had wanted to go to college and had already been making plans to attend a nearby university. Dean didn’t even get to graduate high school before he got arrested. He ended up getting his G.E.D. in prison instead.

“I see.” Balthazar leaned back in his chair. “So when exactly did you two meet? Castiel told me you two used to work together.”

Again, they exchanged glances. Castiel had to take a deep breath, and he could see Dean doing the same. Time to put their backstory into play.

“We did, back in Arizona.” 

“When?”

“Around the time he was a college student.”

Castiel bobbed his head in agreement. “I was a junior. He and I worked at the campus.”

Balthazar lifted a brow. “Aren’t colleges more prone to hire students rather than outsiders?”

“Yeah, but not many students want to be janitors.” Again, lies hidden within the truth. Dean had been a janitor at one point before being moved to the prison library. 

“I guess not going to college does mean getting the jobs no one else wants,” Balthazar said, sounding a bit condescending.

“Or saving money and not wasting my time on a degree I would come to regret.” Dean eyed Balthazar. “Didn’t you invest in a history degree?”

Balthazar shot Castiel a look, who quickly looked away. “Yes, I did,” Balthazar replied, irritation coloring his tone. Castiel could feel his heated glare, and Castiel focused on eating his meal, avoiding his hard gaze. He knew he would hear it later for telling Dean about that. “But after getting a business degree, I more than made up for the loans I borrowed. Not that pursuing other possibilities is a bad thing while in college.” Balthazar lifted his wine glass. “But I’m more curious about you. Castiel told me you were co-workers, but he worked at the campus bookstore. At least that’s where I met him.”

“I worked at the campus bookstore for a while,” Dean answered slowly. Castiel lifted his gaze and watched him as he used a fork to push around the half-eaten rice on his plate. “A promotion, I guess. The manager needed someone to fill in for one of the employees who quit.”

“So you had experience working at a bookstore?” Balthazar asked before bringing his wine glass to his mouth again. Castiel narrowed hid eyes. Not only was it Balthazar’s full second glass, but it was already half-way empty

“I had experience working as a cashier.” Dean stared Balthazar down. “How else did you think I paid for the parts of the car I was building up? And my little brother wanted to go to Stanford. I was going to make that happen one way or another, hence the janitor gig, the cashiering, and whatever other jobs I was able to pick up.” He speared a potato and took a moment to eat it. “I didn’t have a mommy or daddy to hand me an allowance.”

That was a dig, and one that struck home, if the way Balthazar’s jaw clenched was anything to go by. Balthazar might have the fancy degree and a successful career, but with a few choice words, Dean had proved himself to be the harder worker, working his way through high school without parents to support him financially the way Balthazar’s parents had. Sure, Balthazar had taken out loans for his college and was rolling in enough money to pay them off, but his parents had paid for the rent of the apartment Balthazar had been living in off-campus, and they were the ones who had paid for the car Balthazar had driven in. Balthazar hadn’t had to worry about bills or little brothers aiming for big, expensive colleges. 

Castiel had to admire Dean, because despite losing his parents at a young age, he had still done all he could to not only help fund Sam’s dreams to attend college, but to pay for his own passion for cars. Plenty of youngsters wouldn’t have been able handle the sudden responsibility of raising a young brother while dealing with the grief of losing one’s parents. Dean seemed to have only grown stronger, and not even prison had been enough to stop him from supporting his brother and from pursuing his own dreams of working with cars.

He gazed at Dean, and Dean glanced back. “There are just some people you’d do anything for,” Dean murmured softly.

Castiel smiled slightly and looked down again. Balthazar cleared his throat and said, “So what brought you here to Kansas?”

“I’m from here,” Dean answered patiently. “There weren’t many jobs opportunities around here when I graduated, so I left, picked up random jobs all around the country.” He leaned back in his chair. “Guess you can say I was finding myself in the process.”

“And what about supporting your brother?” Balthazar asked with a raised brow, and Castiel nudged him with a foot. Balthazar ignored him as he cradled his wine glass in one hand. “Can’t see how you can support him if you left him alone.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t. He stayed with Bobby.” Dean scratched at the side of his neck where his tattoo was, and Castiel saw how Balthazar’s eyes flickered towards it. “Any money I got paid, it went straight into a fund for my brother. I went from New York to California.” His eyes strayed to Castiel. “It was on my way to California when I made a pit stop in Arizona. That’s where I met him.” He redundantly pointed at Castiel with his fork. “When I decided to come back to Kansas, I remembered Castiel saying how he was from here and that he might come back once he finished college. Decided to look him up, see if he really did come back.” He smiled wide. “Glad to see it was true.” He looked back at Balthazar. “So, Castiel says that you were an international student when you two met, right?”

Balthazar nodded and drained the rest of his wine. “Yes. We met senior year.” He smiled at Castiel, and he returned it. He did shift a little uncomfortably, however, when Balthazar grabbed his hand and squeezed. The public display of affection was small and common, but it felt weird doing it in front of Dean. It made him feel awful, for some reason, like he was doing something bad.

“Where are you from?” Dean asked curiously, and Castiel had to applaud his acting skills. Dean knew all about Balthazar, because Castiel had told him everything during their time together in prison. However, in order to make it seem like they hadn’t been in contact with each other since Castiel’s time in college, they had decided that Dean would ask a few questions about Balthazar’s past just so his husband wouldn’t find it suspicious that Dean knew way too much about him. It seemed to be the right call, anyway, considering Balthazar’s earlier irritation at Castiel for telling Dean about his abandoned history degree.

“London.” Balthazar shifted in his chair using one hand to refill his wine glass and keeping his other hand on top of Castiel’s. He wondered if it would look too inconspicuous if he tugged his hand away. 

“Why not go to somewhere like New York or California?”

“The university in Arizona had a good program.”

“For history?” Dean gave him a tiny smirk.

Balthazar’s jaw clenched in annoyance, and Castiel shot Dean a look. He hoped the other man understood his silent order to behave. There was no need to antagonize Balthazar. “Yes, history, but they also have a good program for business degrees. In fact, that’s how Castiel and I met. We took an accounting course that was required for both our degrees.” He squeezed Castiel’s hand again, and Castiel subtly tugged. Balthazar didn’t let go, so he resigned himself to the display. He grabbed his wine glass and took a large gulp.

“And I guess Cas is the reason why you decided to leave Arizona for Kansas?”

Balthazar smiled wide and looked at Castiel again. “Of course.” Castiel took another gulp of his wine. Balthazar was really layering on the lovey-dovey crap thickly. Balthazar gave Dean a sly look. “When you love someone, you’d go across the world just to be with them, you know?”

Dean glanced between the two, before he nodded seriously. “Yeah, I do know.”

“You do?” Balthazar tilted his head, giving him a considering look. “You had someone special?”

“Have,” Dean corrected, and Castiel’s head jerked up, eyes wide. Dean looked as shocked as Castiel felt, like he hadn’t meant to correct Balthazar.

Balthazar’s gaze sharpened. “Who?”

“Lisa,” Castiel said before Dean could answer.

Dean looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “Lisa.”

Castiel’s stomach knotted unpleasantly. “So you did make a move on her?”

“Yep.” Dean averted his gaze and scratched the back of his head. “She’s great.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, though it wasn’t easy when it felt like all the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room.

“Didn’t want to jinx it,” he explained. “And it’s been like a whirlwind romance. Sometimes when you know, you know. And I know I have someone special.”

“Wonderful,” Balthazar exclaimed as Castiel tried to comprehend what Dean was telling him. “Guess Castiel and I can’t be the only lucky ones to find someone.” He grabbed his wine glass and started drinking.

“No, guess not,” Dean agreed easily, though there was a look in his eyes that Castiel couldn’t decipher. “One night stands could only go for so long before it gets tiresome.” Dean stared at Castiel intently. “Now that I found someone, I realize that having a relationship is so much better than having meaningless sex.”

“You must really like her,” Balthazar said, sounding more cheerful now than he had the entire night. Castiel really wanted to punch him.

“Yeah, I do.”

Silence descended once again. Thankfully, Balthazar released his hand, which allowed Castiel to finish his plate, though he found it hard to swallow the rest of his meal. Castiel’s chest was clenched tightly, and a heavy mass sat at the pit of his stomach. His thoughts kept revolving around Dean and Lisa. Lisa and Dean. Together. He should be happy for him. Wasn’t that what he had pushed Dean to do? To pursue her and be with her so that Dean could settle down and have an actual relationship with someone?

Yet, he found it excruciatingly difficult to be happy for him, and he was floundering in an ocean of confusion because he just didn’t understand why he wasn’t happy. Just the thought of her touching and kissing Dean put a bad taste in his mouth.

He realized that he didn’t even know how Lisa even looked like. “You have a picture of Lisa?” A part of him was kind of hoping she wasn’t very pretty, and he was astonished by his petty thoughts.

Dean finished the last of his roast and wiped his mouth. “Yeah.” He set aside the napkin on his plate and arched a little, hand disappearing for a moment behind the table before reappearing with his phone. He tapped on it before turning it around. 

The picture spoke a thousand words. 

The woman was beautiful, with straight black hair and an angular face and dark eyes. She was pursing her lips for the camera while Dean pressed a kiss against her temple. Seeing it only made the twisting in his belly worse. Despite that, he still managed to smile. He hoped it was convincing. “She’s beautiful,” he commented. 

Dean put the phone away. “She certainly is.” Again, Dean gave him a look, but like before, Castiel couldn’t read it. There was just too much going on inside him to spend the effort required to figure out the looks Dean kept giving him. 

Balthazar lifted his glass. “Here’s to long and happy relationships. Maybe we can all hang out one of these days. Hell, maybe one day we’ll all be sitting on a bench watching our kids play together at a nearby park.” He drank a good portion, and the amount of wine Balthazar was drinking distracted Castiel from his thoughts about Dean and Lisa. He grew a little concerned. 

He leaned closer to Balthazar. “Slow down,” he whispered.

Balthazar shot him a look, and his eyes were a little dilated. His cheeks were a bit flushed as well. “I’m fine.” As if to prove it, Balthazar finished off the rest of the wine and grabbed the bottle again to fill his glass for what Castiel counted to be the fourth time. He smiled wide at Dean and grabbed Castiel’s hand again. “Did Castiel tell you that we’re planning to adopt soon?”

Dean’s gaze bounced back and forth. “No,” he responded slowly.

Castiel slightly gaped at Balthazar’s words. They had discussed children once or twice, but had never had a real conversation about it. He wasn’t sure what Balthazar was doing bringing something like that to the table.

No, he _did_ know what Balthazar was doing. He was marking his territory in whatever way he could, emphasizing the strength of their marriage by insinuating their readiness for children. It was just one more way to remind Dean of how little chance he had in taking Castiel away from him, which was ridiculous when not five minutes earlier Dean had expressly stated that he was with Lisa. Dean wasn’t a threat to their marriage or Balthazar’s place in Castiel’s life. 

Annoyed, he tightly said, “Right now, children are the last thing on my mind.” Balthazar scowled at his comment, but Castiel didn’t care. He yanked his hand free, glaring at his husband, who returned it with a hard stare of his own. 

Defiant, and no longer in the mood to reassure Balthazar that nothing was going on between him and Dean, he abruptly stood up. “Time for dessert,” he announced, and even he could hear the irritation in his own voice. “I’ll grab some more plates and a knife so we can enjoy that pie.” He smiled wide and left the dining room.

As soon as he stepped into the kitchen he let his smile drop. He walked to the counter, placing his palms on the cool surface and bending forward until the tiled floor came into his line of sight. He took deep breaths, trying to get rid of the tension in his body and trying to loosen all the knots that were tying him up inside.

He was angry, he dimly realized. Most of it was directed at Balthazar’s behavior, but a bit of his anger was aimed at Dean as well, and he wasn’t even sure why.

Dean hadn’t done anything wrong tonight. In fact, he had done everything Castiel had asked him to. He didn’t spill any of their secrets. He stuck to the story they came up with. He said everything Castiel had told him to say—except for the Lisa thing. That had never been part of the plan.

If one thought about it, though, it was a nice touch. Dean had effectively told Balthazar that he had nothing to worry about, because Dean already had someone of his own, and even if it wasn’t Dean’s way of assuring Balthazar that nothing was going on between himself and Castiel, the fact that he was involved with someone was a very good thing. It meant that he had taken a chance and was allowing himself to find happiness in some place other than a stranger’s bed. Castiel should be glad for him and his relationship. He wasn’t, though. He wasn’t glad. He was upset. He was just so _angry_. 

He wished that he had never encouraged Dean to chase after Lisa. He wished that Dean hadn’t decided to reveal his relationship with Lisa over dinner, or showed Castiel his picture with her. He wished Balthazar hadn’t demanded this gathering and that it was just him and Dean like it was supposed to be. 

_He wished he wasn’t married._

He pushed away from the counter in shock and stood still, unable to believe what had just crossed his mind. He couldn’t have thought that. He never, not once, regretted marrying Balthazar. He didn’t deny that he had doubts on his wedding day—and maybe for a few weeks after—but he had never regretted vowing to love him for the rest of his life, because he did love him. Balthazar had been there for him since the moment the police showed up to arrest him, and he had waited for him until the day he got out, welcoming him with open arms and an open heart. Sure, Balthazar could be uptight and a little judgmental and clearly had a few trust issues, but any flaws he had were outweighed by the good qualities he did have. 

Castiel had done well in marrying Balthazar. He was everything Castiel could have ever wanted and more. Castiel was _happy,_ damn it. He was happy. He really, really was. Really and truly.

He looked over his shoulder when he heard the kitchen door opening. Balthazar stepped inside, and Castiel noticed how he was a little unsteady on his feet. He looked a little wide-eyed, too. 

“It doesn’t take this long to grab a few plates and a knife,” Balthazar said. He spoke clearly and without slurring. Well, he wasn’t drunk, but Castiel was pretty sure he was, at the very least, tipsy. 

Balthazar’s words registered a second later. He hadn’t realized how long he had been standing in the kitchen. “You didn’t kill him, did you?” he muttered. He went to the cupboards and pulled out smaller plates suited for slices of pie.

“He’s perfectly alive, just like I’m sure you like him to be.”

Castiel placed the plates on the counter and went to the freezer, deciding to grab the vanilla ice-cream. Balthazar loved eating ice-cream even when the weather was cold. “Yes, I do like him alive.”

“Because you like him in general.”

There was a dark tint to Balthazar’s tone. “If I didn’t like him I wouldn’t be friends with him,” he replied with as much patience as he could muster.

“That’s not what I meant, Castiel, and you know it.”

Castiel opted to ignore that and took the ice-cream out of the freezer, tucking it under his arm and swinging the freezer door close. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said lightly, turning around. 

He flinched back in surprise when he found his husband right in front of him. His expression was thunderous. “Don’t pull that shit with me, _darling_ ,” he sneered. 

Castiel frowned. “I’m not pulling anything, Balthazar. I just want to—”

“Fuck Dean?”

Castiel gaped at Balthazar’s blunt crudity. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. How stupid do you think I am? Did you really think that I wouldn’t notice those little glances and smiles you two keep throwing at each other? You think I wouldn’t notice you blushing like a high school girl with a crush?” He curled his lip. “What the hell is going on between you two?”

“Nothing!” Castiel exclaimed, staring at Balthazar with wide eyes. 

“I don’t believe you. Something _is_ going on. I saw it with my own eyes! I’m not blind,” he snapped. “How long have you been screwing around with him?”

“I’m not screwing around with him.” Castiel’s throat had gone tight, and his heart was beating as fast and wild as a racing horse. He gripped the ice-cream carton between them. “I swear, I’m not cheating on you. Dean and I—”

Balthazar seized his upper arms tightly, and the painful grip made him gasp. He dropped the ice-cream carton, and it clattered between their feet. He winced when Balthazar pushed him against the refrigerator, the long handle digging into his back. 

“I saw you,” he growled. “I saw the face you made when he brought up Lisa. I thought you’d throw up right then and there.” He shoved him again, and Castiel cried out at the sharp burn his back suffered from the handle. “I don’t know if you two were fucking and broke things off or if you two are screwing each other and you didn’t know he found another piece of arse to fuck, but I know jealousy when I see it.”

“Jealousy?” Castiel squirmed, trying to relieve the pain in his back even as he tried to make sense of Balthazar’s words. “Balthazar,” Castiel whispered, trying to get his husband to release him. Balthazar wasn’t a violent man and had never hurt Castiel, but Balthazar did have a little too much wine tonight. Balthazar’s temper was getting the best of him and his control was slipping. That scared Castiel. 

“I want the truth, Castiel,” he spat. “Are you two fucking each other?”

“No!” Castiel shouted. He wiggled in order to get loose, but Balthazar only squeezed tighter—too tight, in fact—and Castiel hissed at the additional pain. “Balthazar, you’re hurting me.”

“Let him go.”

Balthazar looked over his shoulder, and Castiel had enough of a view to see Dean standing in their kitchen, glaring at Balthazar. His fists were clenched and he looked braced for a fight.

Ignoring the demand, Balthazar said in a deceptively calm voice, “I’m sorry, this is a private conversation between me and my husband.”

“The door isn’t as thick as you seem to think it is, and the way I see it, no conversation is private if my name is being thrown around.” Dean approached them, narrowed eyes locked on Balthazar. “And you’re hurting your husband for no reason. Let him go.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, you bastard,” Balthazar snarled.

“Let him go, or I’ll make you.”

The threat hung in the air. Balthazar’s hands flexed a few times, glowering at Dean for several seconds before he abruptly let go and stepped back. Castiel rubbed at his upper arms and moved to the side. He knew without looking that he was going to have bruises on his arms and back. Balthazar hadn’t held back at all, too fueled by anger to think about the pain he was causing, however slight it was. 

“You okay, Cas?” Dean asked, briefly glancing at him before focusing on Balthazar again.

Castiel nodded, remaining where he was. “I’m fine,” he said, but the shakiness in his voice belied his words. 

He watched the two men. Both were tense and staring at each other as though they were about to go at it right there in the kitchen, Balthazar especially. Balthazar was rigid and he was looking at Dean like he was barely resisting the urge to pummel his face. Dean didn’t look any calmer, and he knew that the scene he had walked into had probably set off some sort of protective instinct in Dean. Castiel getting hurt, no matter how mild, was not something Dean took lightly. 

“We’re not sleeping together,” Dean said unwaveringly, never looking away from Balthazar. 

“And you think I’m going to believe _you_?” Balthazar laughed, and it was such an ugly and harsh sound that Castiel cringed. “You come into my house and gawk at my husband—”

“Doesn’t mean I’m fucking him, and if you’re capable of remembering, I do have someone in my life. Have photographic evidence and everything.”

“Don’t fucking mock me,” Balthazar said furiously. “I want you to stay away from Castiel. If you so much as look at him again, I’ll—”

“I’ll stay away when he tells me to,” Dean interrupted, not buckling under Balthazar’s demands. “You don’t tell me what to do, you uptight prick.”

Balthazar rushed towards Dean, hands up and aiming right for Dean’s throat. Alarmed, Castiel surged forward and jumped in front of Balthazar, slapping his hands on his chest and forcing him to a stop. 

“Enough,” he ordered, pushing Balthazar back a few steps. “There’s no need—“”

Balthazar talked right over him. “You’re nothing but an insignificant low class asshole who’s not even worthy of wiping my shoes,” Balthazar bit out. Behind him, Castiel heard Dean inhale sharply at the insult. “You think I don’t see the little crush you have on Castiel? You’re so obvious it’s pitiful. I’m the man he married, and I’m the one he comes home to. No matter what you think, he’ll never leave me for something as small and worthless as you.” 

“Balthazar,” Castiel said sharply, concerned at the way the situation was starting to escalate. 

He glanced back at Dean, and he ached at the blank mask Dean wore. One might think that Balthazar’s words had little impact on him because of the lack of emotion on his face, but Castiel knew better. He could see it in the slight hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his lips. 

Dean was cocky and tough, but he had a large set of issues and insecurities when it came to his own self-worth. Even if every single person in the world joined forces and decided to hate him, no one would come even close to hating Dean as much as he hated himself. Dean had taken a life, had been forced to abandon his brother to go to prison, and had served a twenty-odd year sentence for second degree murder. All of that combined gave birth to so much self-loathing that Castiel wasn’t sure if Dean would ever be able to move past it. Dean thought so little of himself, and to have Balthazar attacking him had to hurt Dean’s self-esteem. 

And Castiel wasn’t going to allow it. 

“You stop it right now,” he snapped, clenching Balthazar’s shirt in his hands and shaking the man until he looked at him. “That was completely uncalled for.”

“It’s the truth,” Balthazar snapped back. “What do you see in him? Is his dick really that bloody fantastic?”

“You shut your mouth,” Dean said darkly. “You need to learn a thing or two about treating people with respect instead of running your mouth and sounding like an insecure jackass.” Castiel glanced at him again, and discovered Dean’s blank mask gone. His expression was thunderous now. Whatever little patience Dean had was gone. “You don’t know me, dickhead. You don’t know anything about me or any of the shit I went through.”

“Dean,” Castiel whispered softly, then quickly turned around to brace his hands against Dean’s chest when the other man stepped closer. Castiel could see the fury in his green eyes. “Calm down,” he urged.

Dean either chose to ignore him or didn’t hear his plea. “You ask a few questions and decide that you’re better than me just because you have a fancy degree and a fancy job? That doesn’t make you better, asshole. I spent years working my ass off, doing manual labor and getting my hands dirty just to pay off bills because my adopted father didn’t make enough to support two growing kids. I worked night after night after school to make sure my little brother got to go to the college of his choice. 

“I came here because Cas told me you wanted to get to know me,” Dean continued, “but from the moment you opened the door you’ve treated me like shit. You want me to, what, feel intimidated by your success? Feel bad about myself because I didn’t go to college or married some hot guy like you did? Maybe that works on other people, but not on me, because guess what? I’m not worthless. I’m not a lowlife imbecile. I’m a hard worker and I’m a better man than you’ll ever be.”

Castiel stared at Dean in awe. He stood tall and proud, head held high. When he spoke, his words didn’t falter, and Castiel could feel the strength exuding from him. He hadn’t given Dean enough credit. Somewhere along the way, Dean had realized his own self-worth, and was now holding his own against Balthazar.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Dean added with a humorless smirk, “if you have to go so far as to belittle someone else just to make yourself feel better, then you’re not just an insecure jackass. You’re downright _pathetic._ ”

Castiel bit his lip and looked at Balthazar. His husband’s face was flushed, humiliation written all over it. “All right, you guys,” Castiel said, trying to stay calm. “Look, there’s no need for this to go any further. How about—”

“I’m not the pathetic one here,” Balthazar shot back, and stepped as close as he could to Dean. Castiel knew Balthazar would have gotten in Dean’s face if Castiel hadn’t stood between them. As it was, he getting squeezed between them. “Pathetic is someone who decides to go after someone else’s man.”

Dean snorted. “That’s really you’re come back? Listen, dude, you need to sit your ass down and really think about taking care of those issues of yours, otherwise you’re going to have a big problem on your hands.”

“You’re the one with the problem,” Balthazar jeered, and Castiel grunted as he plastered one hand on each man’s chest, trying to push them apart. They clearly weren’t going to listen to him, so the only thing he could do was try to physically separate them and put some distance between them. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners when it comes to respecting someone else’s marriage?”

“Stop it,” Castiel hissed frantically. Balthazar knew that Dean lost his parents. He knew that Dean didn’t have a mother growing up, yet he was going to go there just to make a point?

Dean softly said, “You shut your mouth about my mother if you know what’s good for you.” There was a warning there, one that any smart man would have heeded.

Unfortunately, Balthazar wasn’t very smart at the moment, and Castiel could only assume that it was the alcohol that was loosening Balthazar’s tongue. If his husband had been in his right mind, he would have thought about his words before speaking them.

“She’d be ashamed if she knew the kind of man her little boy grew up as,” Balthazar sneered.

“You don’t know anything about her,” Dean growled. “So I highly suggest that you shut that hole in your face before I do it for you.”

Balthazar snorted, unafraid even when Castiel thought he should be. “I know she’s probably rolling over in her grave right now.” 

“Balthazar, _shut up_.” Castiel couldn’t believe what Balthazar was doing. He was latching onto a sore subject just to piss Dean off. It was childish and cruel.

“You should listen to your husband for once,” Dean said coldly.

“You don’t scare me, you son of a bitch.” Balthazar smiled cruelly. “And when I say son of a bitch, I literally mean son of a _bitch_.”

Everyone froze. Castiel paled and stared at Balthazar incredulously. He didn’t know the man standing in front of him at that moment, because surely it wasn’t the loving husband he had married. Balthazar had never been so crude or heartless in all the time Castiel had known him, and he was absolutely revolted by what just came out of Balthazar’s mouth. 

Everything was at a standstill, and Castiel wasn’t sure what to do. He couldn’t even look at Dean, afraid of what he would see. Beneath his hand, Dean was so still, muscles bunched and tense. The fact that Dean had gone quiet scared Castiel more than if Dean had shouted in outrage. He recognized that kind of fury. It was the calm before the storm, when everything was still and quiet before it erupted into a roaring explosion.

Some rationality must have returned to Balthazar, because his eyes flashed with regret, as though he realized that he had taken it too far. His lips twisted in a grimace. 

“I—”

Whatever Balthazar was going to say—whether an apology or another insult—Castiel would never know, because he was shoved aside, and a blur of human fury flew passed him and rammed right into Balthazar. By the time Castiel found his footing, Dean was already straddling Balthazar on the floor and punching him in the face. 

“Stop!” he shouted as Balthazar blocked Dean’s next punch and responded with one of his own, punching Dean right in the stomach, and Balthazar rolled them over until he was on top and hit Dean in the face. Dean’s head jerked to the side with the impact, and Castiel winced at the loud smack of fist hitting flesh. “Dean—Balthazar!”

Dean plastered a hand on Balthazar’s face and shoved him back. He brought a leg up between them and kicked Balthazar in the chest. Balthazar fell to the floor and Dean quickly got to his feet, eyes narrowed and filled with such fire that Castiel knew Dean was consumed with too much rage for it to be easy to get through to him.

Balthazar wasn’t much better, scrambling to his feet and not wasting any time in lunging forward and wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist, pushing him back until he hit the wall. Dean’s head smacked a hanging picture, and the glass cracked before it fell on the floor, glass shattering around both men’s feet. Balthazar pulled back his arm and punched, aiming for Dean’s face, but Dean ducked and Balthazar’s clenched hand met the wall with a loud crack. While Balthazar was momentarily distracted by the pain in his hand, Dean took the opportunity to punch upward. Balthazar’s head swung back and he stumbled a few steps. He recovered quickly, though, and both men began to exchange blows and kicks that had Castiel panicking. 

Castiel hovered near them, side-stepping and jumping back whenever they got too close to him, shouting at them to stop. They didn’t pay attention to him, too focused on the fight and letting out their fury and aggression on each other. They were fighting all over the kitchen, slamming into the counters and the central island, falling on the floor and rolling around as they jabbed and swiped. Things fell, any breakables shattering, and red began to smear on any surface they touched as both men drew blood from the other. 

If he tried to intervene, he knew he’d get hurt. He wasn’t that good at fighting, and he certainly wouldn’t stand a chance against Dean or Balthazar. Dean fought dirty, his style having been perfected due to the countless fights he had gotten into in prison. Balthazar, on the other hand, was skilled in kickboxing and martial arts after taking lessons over the years.

They were seriously hurting each other, breaking skin, maybe even bones, and if Castiel tried to jump in between them, he’d be the one getting injured.

But all thoughts flew right out the window when Balthazar elbowed Dean right in the throat, making Dean heave and gag. “No!” Castiel exclaimed when Balthazar grabbed Dean by the head and slammed it against the counter. He ran forward and grabbed Balthazar’s arm just as he was about to bring Dean’s head down again. He yanked Balthazar’s arm back, which was enough to get him to release Dean, but Balthazar swung his arm out hard enough to dislodge Castiel and sending him to the floor. His head hit the ground, and for a moment all he saw were black spots.

He pushed himself up on his hands and knees and shook his head to clear his vision. The dancing spots disappeared just as Dean tackled Balthazar to the floor. They rolled several feet and hit the table stationed at the nook. 

Castiel managed to get up on his two feet, swaying a little when the black spots returned. He swayed and reached out to grab the nearest surface to steady his balance. Once he did, he looked up and found Dean pinning Balthazar down and punching his face with his right fist, then the left, over and over. Balthazar’s head kept jerking left and right with each blow, face becoming mottled with purple and red. 

Dean finally had Balthazar right where he wanted him, restrained and unable to fight back, and Dean showed no signs of stopping.

Terrified of the consequences Dean would face if he went too far, Castiel took a chance and threw himself onto Dean’s back. He wrapped his arms around his chest and _yanked_. It was enough to knock Dean off balance, making both men topple over and land onto the ground. Castiel held on tight just in case Dean tried to move towards Balthazar again. He pleaded right into Dean’s ear when he tried to struggle out of his hold. “Stop, please. Dean, _stop_.” He repeated it over and over frantically, until Dean finally stopped struggling. “Please,” he whispered. “No more.”

Dean was breathing heavily, and once Castiel realized that Dean wasn’t going to go after Balthazar again he buried his face into the nape of his neck. He was shaking and though he tried to stop, he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline, fear, or maybe both, but he just couldn’t stop trembling. When Dean twitched and began to move, Castiel squeezed. Hands touched his arms and rubbed them soothingly. “It’s okay,” Dean said. He sounded off, voice hoarse and words kind of garbled. “Cas? It’s okay.”

Castiel pulled away slowly. Dean sat up and turned around, and Castiel barely got a glimpse of the damage to his face—bloody nose that was probably broken, split lip, swollen eye—before he was suddenly drawn against Dean’s chest. Dean must be in pain, he thought dumbly, yet Castiel was the one being held like a scared child, being comforted and cradled protectively. Dean murmured apologies and reassurances into his ear, and Castiel closed his eyes tight, accepting the comfort.

Castiel didn’t know how long it took for his shaking to subside, but once it did he looked up at Dean. Jesus, his face looked horrible. It was bruised and swollen, and there was blood specked on his chin and hair. Despite the pain he must be in, Dean gave him a crooked smile. “Still handsome?”

Leave it to Dean to still crack jokes even when he looked like he went twelve rounds with a professional boxer. “You should go to the hospital.” He reached out gingerly and touched Dean’s lip. 

“We Winchesters are made of tougher stuff,” Dean replied with a chuckle. He promptly winced, and Castiel wondered what injury was bad enough to make chuckling painful. Maybe all of them. “I’ll live.”

“Good, that means he can get out of my house on his own two feet.”

Castiel started and he swung his head around. Balthazar was sitting up and glaring at them. His face looked just as bad as Dean’s. His left side was completely swollen, and there was a gash on his right cheek and on his forehead. Blood was spilling from his mouth—it looked like he was missing a tooth—as well as his nose. He probably had a broken nose as well. 

After taking in Balthazar’s state, he realized that Balthazar wasn’t glaring at them both. He was glaring at _him_ , and only then did he realize that he was sitting in between Dean’s spread legs, surrounded by his arms. Until that moment, Castiel hadn’t spared a single thought for Balthazar, and guilt slammed into him. Castiel could only imagine what was going on in Balthazar’s mind right now, watching his husband being held in another man’s arms. 

Castiel lowered his gaze, carefully extracting himself from Dean’s embrace and slowly standing up. He was sure that he had completely obliterated any hope of preserving Balthazar’s faith and trust in him by not performing his husbandly duty and tending to Balthazar first instead of focusing on Dean. 

Dean stood as well and once Balthazar noticed he was the only one sitting on the floor, he got up. He swept his gaze across the kitchen. Castiel did the same and he sighed at the mess. There was glass and porcelain everywhere, and smears of blood colored their floor. He wasn’t looking forward to cleaning it up.

Balthazar and Dean eventually made eye contact again and Castiel braced himself, ready to step between them if either one of them looked ready to launch forward and resume the fight. No one made any move that indicated an impending punch, though, and after a moment’s hesitation Castiel went to Balthazar to look him over more closely. 

Balthazar was having none of it. As soon as Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder, it was thrown off. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped. “The last thing I want is some whore pretending to care about me.”

Castiel felt like Balthazar just slapped him, insult stinging sharp and deep. “Balthazar—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Balthazar shouted, taking a step forward. 

Abruptly, his view of Balthazar was blocked by a broad back. Dean stood in front of him, protecting him. He didn’t think Balthazar had planned on hurting him—until he remembered the painful grip Balthazar had on him earlier, and the way he slammed him against the refrigerator door and paid no heed to the obvious pain Castiel was in. He unconsciously rubbed at his arms.

For all he knew, maybe Balthazar _would_ have tried to hit him if Dean wasn’t currently standing in the way.

“Cas isn’t a whore,” Dean stated steadfastly. “He’s one of the best men I have ever met, and believe me when I say that if I had met him first, you wouldn’t be in the picture.” Castiel looked at Dean in surprise at the blunt proclamation, and his heart stuttered in his chest. 

Balthazar’s hands flexed, and Castiel tensed, nervously wondering if he would have to try to stop another fight from happening after all, but instead of throwing a punch, Balthazar spat, “I want you out of my house. Get the fuck out right now!”

“Like I’m going to leave Cas alone with you.”

“Get out of my damn house or I’ll fucking make you.”

Dean stood his ground and didn’t budge. Balthazar’s face contorted as much as he could with the swelling, and his hands flexed again, curling into fists. Afraid that they would get into again, and unsure if he would be able to stop it this time, Castiel touched Dean’s back. “It’s okay,” he murmured. Dean glanced at him, looking pissed and worried all at the same time. “I’ll be fine.”

Castiel glanced at Balthazar and he realized he had made a mistake by touching Dean. It wasn’t meant to be intimate, but knowing the kind of suspicions running through Balthazar’s head at the moment, any kind of physical contact probably seemed non-platonic. He quickly removed his hand and backed up a little. 

It was too late, though, because Balthazar lifted his hands. “You know what? Why don’t the both of you just stay here and fuck as much as you want. I’ll bloody leave.”

Balthazar stormed out of the kitchen and seconds later, the loud slam of the front door echoed throughout the house.

Castiel slumped and rubbed his face with his hands, taking a deep breath and wondering if this was some kind of horrible nightmare he’d be able to wake up from if he pinched himself. He lowered his hands slightly, uncovering his eyes. Dean was staring at him with concern, and Castiel sighed. He dropped his hands. “Maybe you should go,” he suggested quietly.

“You sure?” Dean asked worriedly. “I mean, I could stay—”

“If you’re still here when Balthazar comes back, it’ll just make things worse.”

Dean cocked his head. His one good eye peered at him. “You sure he’s coming back?”

It wasn’t about being sure. Castiel needed to believe that Balthazar was coming back, because he couldn’t bear the alternative. He couldn’t bear the idea of Balthazar disappearing and refusing to return just because of a huge misunderstanding. While Castiel had slept with Dean in the past, he wasn’t doing anything wrong now. Since their marriage, Castiel had been faithful. Balthazar had to come back so that Castiel could assure him of that fact.

He nodded. “He’ll be back, and he’ll be royally pissed if you’re still here.”

“Okay,” Dean said softly. “If you’re sure.”

Castiel hesitated before touching Dean’s face again. “You really should go see a doctor. Balthazar got in a few good hits.” He forced himself to smile. “And I’m sure you want to keep looking handsome for your Lisa.”

Dean blinked and then returned the smile, but it didn’t seem very bright and it was kind of small. Castiel could only assume that the injuries to his face prevented him from delivering a real smile. “Yeah,” he murmured.

They were quiet as they returned to the dining room. Castiel gave the apple pie still sitting on the table a remorseful look. It was probably cold, and he regretted not having a taste of it. Dean had seemed so eager to share his mother’s pie recipe. He noticed the way Dean was gingerly putting on his jacket—his movements were slow and stiff—so he stepped forward to help him put it on. Dean murmured his thanks.

Castiel walked him to the door and as Dean stepped outside, Castiel said, “Dean, I’m so sorry for what Balthazar said about your mother. That was out of line and inexcusable.” He shook his head, still unable to believe the things Balthazar had said. “He’s a good man, and I know that he said what he said because he was trying to piss you off, but it was a cheap and unfair shot, and completely unwarranted.”

Dean smiled slightly and cupped Castiel’s cheek, rubbing his cheekbone with his thumb. “You don’t have to apologize for him. Whatever his reasons for saying it, that’s on him. Not you.”

He lowered his hand only to tangle it briefly with one of Castiel’s. He squeezed it once before letting go and turning around. Castiel watched him walk away.

** 

Castiel was startled awake by something slapping his face. He bolted upright, blinking in confusion when he saw nothing but white and black fluttering around him, landing on his lap and on the floor. After a few seconds in which his brain tried to comprehend what was going on, he realized that the white and black were papers.

“Dean Winchester.”

Castiel’s head jerked up. Balthazar stood beside the couch where Castiel had slept last night. He had stayed up until close to midnight cleaning the mess in the kitchen and dining room, and had been too tried to even take the stairs to reach his room once he had finished cleaning. He had simply collapsed on the couch and fell asleep. He hadn’t even put on his pajamas, and it had been a fitful sleep at best with him waking up every other hour or so. He was glad it was Saturday and that he didn’t have to go into work, otherwise he would have had to call in sick. He felt too exhausted, too drained to research cases and laws for his boss. A quick look at the clock on the mantle above the fireplace showed that it was almost noon.

Taking in Balthazar’s appearance, Castiel’s face twisted in empathy at the sight. He looked worse than he had last night. He could only open one eye fully, the swelling hadn’t gone down at all, and the bruises were a lot more vivid, his face splotchy with black and blue. The small gashes on his face were stitched up, though, assuring him that Balthazar had at least gone somewhere to get medical attention. Balthazar also looked like he got very little sleep—if he slept at all. He still wore the clothes from last night as well, the fabric badly wrinkled, and his hair, which was usually immaculate, was a mess.

“What?” he replied in confusion, not comprehending what Balthazar said.

“Dean Winchester,” Balthazar repeated.

“He isn’t here,” Castiel said cautiously. Any lingering traces of sleep vanished when he noticed the manic glint in Balthazar’s eyes. It was a worrying sight.

He swung his legs over the side of the couch, and something crinkled beneath his socked feet when they hit the floor. He looked down at the papers that had fallen on the floor and he picked up a few that were still on his lap. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the papers were actually news articles. He looked at the headline of one of the articles.

_Dean Winchester Sentenced._

His heart stopped. He picked up another article.

_Dean Winchester Confesses to Murder._

He let out a sound of distress, dread filling him.

“Dean looked familiar to me,” Balthazar said softly. Castiel lowered the articles and slowly looked up. Balthazar towered over him, his expression hard. “I didn’t know why, and when he mentioned his last name, I was too furious to really put it together. It didn’t hit me until last night when a nurse was stitching me up. But I couldn’t believe it. I thought I was wrong or maybe the morphine they had given me was screwing with my senses, so I did a little bit of research this morning.” He swept his hands around, indicating the papers that were all over the couch and floor. “And this is what I found. Article after article about Dean Winchester, a man who killed his best friend in cold blood.”

Castiel couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. He couldn’t do anything except watch as Balthazar carefully sat on the coffee table, his one good eye glaring at him. 

“Dean was convicted as an adult at seventeen. He was serving a fifteen year to life sentence, with the possibility of parole.” He leaned closer. “You know what that tells me, Castiel? It tells me that you lied. You didn’t meet him in college, did you?” Castiel didn’t answer, and Balthazar’s eye sharpened. “Answer me,” he demanded, and Castiel flinched. “You didn’t meet him in college.”

Castiel swallowed and slowly shook his head. “No,” he croaked.

“Where did you meet him?” Castiel closed his eyes, not wanting to face what was happening. “Castiel, tell me where you met him.”

“Why?” he whispered. “You already know.”

His eyes shot open when Balthazar grabbed his chin in a firm grip. “Because I want to hear you say it. Now tell me the goddamn truth.”

Castiel knew when he was defeated. Balthazar knew, and now the only thing Castiel could do was give him the answers he wanted. 

Castiel gathered his courage, unable to look away due to the fingers still holding his chin. “He was my cellmate in prison,” he admitted reluctantly. “That’s where we met.”

“And all that bullshit about working together was just that, right? Bullshit.”

“No,” Castiel said. “We did work together in the prison. We worked in the library.”

Balthazar roughly released Castiel’s chin and stood up. He began to pace. “So all this time, you’ve been carrying on with a _murderer_?”

Castiel’s shook his head frantically. “He’s not a murderer—”

“Are you seriously saying that?” Balthazar asked in disbelief. “He killed someone and you say he isn’t a murderer?” Balthazar ran a hand through his hair, his pacing increasing. That manic expression was back on his face. “You lied to me about who he was, lied about how you met, brought him here into my home and tried to feed me more lies, and you’re sitting there defending him? Are you fucking kidding me? He killed someone, Castiel!” He waved a hand in front of his face. “Look what he did to me!”

“You did insult his mother,” Castiel couldn’t help but mutter, and he winced. He didn’t know why he said that. He hunched when Balthazar stopped pacing and looked at him angrily. 

“Seriously, Castiel? You’re going to sit there and be a sarcastic shit after the lie you’ve been spinning for the last couple of months?” Balthazar looked about ready to hit something, and Castiel was worried that it was going to be him.

“He’s my friend,” Castiel answered meekly, lowering his gaze in shame. He had been so afraid of his secrets coming out that he hadn’t thought about anything else except protecting them. So he had lied, and had forced Dean to lie with him, and now he had to deal with his husband’s wrath. He wondered if there was a nice hole he could curl up in and hide. “I knew you wouldn’t let me see him if you knew the truth.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t!” Balthazar shouted. “Look at him, Castiel, he killed someone with his bare hands and you thought it smart to be _friends_ with someone like that? How stupid can you be?”

Castiel said nothing, just helplessly stared at his feet.

Balthazar made a sound of frustration, and Castiel flinched. “Why did you decide to have him in your life now after spending so long trying to forget about that place?”

“I knew you wouldn’t like me hanging out with Dean,” he started.

He was interrupted by a snort. “That should’ve been your first clue that you shouldn’t have been doing it.” 

Castiel clenched his hands on his lap. “He’s not a bad man, Balthazar. I know the articles paint him as such, but Dean didn’t mean to kill him.” He shoved aside any remaining articles on his lap and stood up, trying to appear strong, but he couldn’t help hugging himself as he was forced to own up to his lies. “That man was supposed to be Dean’s best friend, and he raped Dean’s girlfriend. He brutalized her—tore her apart—and when Dean found out what he did, he went ballistic. He doesn’t even remember half of that night. He blacked out and when he came to his friend was on the floor and he wasn’t breathing—”

“He told you that?” Balthazar seized Castiel’s shoulders. “And it didn’t occur to you that he lied?”

“He didn’t lie.” He refused to believe such a thing, because he remembered the look on Dean’s face when he had told his story. Dean wasn’t a good enough of an actor to look that broken and guilty unless he truly regretted his actions.

“Even if he didn’t lie, that doesn’t excuse his actions.” Balthazar released him roughly and Castiel rocked back on his heels, throwing his hands out to keep his balance. Balthazar didn’t even notice. “And it certainly doesn’t excuse yours,” he snapped. Balthazar dug his hands into his hair. “I can’t believe this. I thought the only thing I had to be pissed off about was you screwing around behind my back, but as it turns out, I also get to be pissed about you screwing around with a _murderer_.”

“I’m not screwing around,” Castiel snapped, a flare of annoyance momentarily suppressing his shame and guilt. “If you’re going to be pissed, be pissed at something I actually did and not at something that I’ve been telling you over and over that I didn’t do.”

Balthazar’s nostrils flared. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “For the sake of argument, let’s say you haven’t been cheating on me. That doesn’t take away the fact that Dean killed someone and there’s no justification or reasoning for his actions. There’s no defending the fact that he took someone else’s life.”

“Just because he killed someone doesn’t make him a killer, Balthazar. If he truly killed someone without remorse, I wouldn’t have given him the time of day, but he didn’t so I see nothing wrong with being friends with him.” 

Balthazar laughed, the sound ugly and cruel. “Are you seriously telling me that you consider someone who took someone’s life as your _friend_? Do you even hear how ridiculous that sounds?”

Castiel pressed his lips tightly for a moment. Balthazar had every right to be angry, Castiel knew that, but it was upsetting how Balthazar was dismissing his words and explanations like they were nothing. If Balthazar just listened to him, then he would understand. “If you would just get the facts straight instead of—”

“I got enough facts, thank you,” Balthazar spat scornfully. “But you know what I really don’t understand, Castiel? What I’m struggling to understand is how someone like you who proved your innocence, who managed to get exonerated, and who moved on and built a good life that’s normal, decided to be friends with someone like that.”

“He needs someone to be there for him, Balthazar.” Castiel was getting more frustrated by the second, his prior meekness fading away. Balthazar’s perception and opinions were the exact same perceptions and opinions that everyone else had about Dean, and he wasn’t going to let Balthazar steamroll him and attack Dean without getting him to listen to the actual story.

“And that person has to be you? You wanted to forget that part of your past, Castiel. That’s what you said. You told me—”

“I know what I told you,” Castiel snapped, reaching the end of his rope. “But saying it and actually doing it is two different things. You can’t even begin to understand how it feels to try to live in this world again after living behind prison walls where everything you do is monitored and you have bedtimes and you can’t even choose what and when to eat.”

“You seemed to have adjusted just fine these past couple of years,” Balthazar stated flatly. 

“Because I never brought it up!” Castiel pressed clenched hands against his eyes, the stress, lack of sleep, and his frustration over Balthazar’s refusal to pay attention to him making his emotions bubble to the surface. He was too fed up to hold back what he had been holding inside for so long.

“Balthazar, I tried to forget, I tried to move on, but it’s not something that one can just move on from, and what makes it worse is how no one could understand what I went through.” He lowered his hands and stared at Balthazar. “You can’t imagine how different of a world it is in there. People play by different rules. Loyalty and friendships exist only if you’re part of a gang and violence happens every day, and if you’re lucky you’ll survive one day without someone threatening to slit your throat for one reason or another.” He felt his eyes burn as memories swam past his mind’s eye, moments he spent huddled underneath a table as dozens of inmates brawled in the cafeteria, or hiding in his cell so that he wouldn’t be forced to suck another man’s cock. “You ask how I can be friends with someone like Dean. It’s because only I can understand what he’s going through. The way people look at him and judge him is the same way people looked at me, like I was a killer who deserved to go to prison. None of my friends talked to me between the time I was arrested and the time I was exonerated, and I didn’t even do anything!” 

Stubborn, Balthazar argued, “Exactly, that’s the difference between you and Dean. He killed someone. You didn’t. He fucked up his own life, but you were just a victim of unfortunate circumstances. You two are not the same.”

“It’s not about being the same. It’s about being there for him the way I wished someone had been there for me after getting out.”

Balthazar made a face of disbelief and confusion. “And, what, I wasn’t there for you? Is that what you’re saying?”

Castiel bowed his head. “I needed someone to understand what I went through, to help me cope with what I experienced—”

“That’s why I sent you to a therapist—”

“The therapist didn’t get it, Balthazar,” he nearly shouted. “She never spent a single day in a prison cell, and neither did you. You didn’t hear the screams of an inmate being beaten or raped just because he wasn’t big enough to defend himself. You don’t know how it felt to be ordered to strip and bend over so strangers could prod your anus just to make sure you don’t have a shank hidden in there.

“You’ll never see how prisoners can group into gangs and get into fights for something as stupid as a television. You can’t even begin to fathom how scary it is to walk into a building of hundreds of men calling you a fag or a slut because you’re gay, threatening to fuck you just because you have a boyfriend. You’ll never have to experience having men hold you down and force you to give them blow jobs just because they can, and you’ll never know how dirty and disgusting it feels after having a man forcefully ram his cock down your throat while he holds your hair and calls you vile things while the only thing you can do is take it and wait until it’s over, and pray that you get at least a day before it happens all over again. That is something you can never understand.”

Breathing ragged, it suddenly registered what he just said. He inhaled deeply, hugging himself again. He felt raw, vulnerable and exposed. 

Balthazar was staring at him, his good eye wide. He seemed horrified. “Cas . . .” He trailed off, clearly not knowing what to say, and Castiel braced himself for the question he knew Balthazar was going to say. Balthazar visible swallowed. “Were you raped?”

Castiel averted his gaze. He never wanted Balthazar to know about that. Being pushed down to his knees and forced to perform oral sex had made him feel so dirty and spoiled. He had felt guilty for not fighting back, for just taking it and not doing more to defend himself. 

The real reason that he didn’t want to Balthazar to know, though, was because Balthazar would make him relive the experience all over again in an effort to help him deal with the trauma, but that was the thing: Castiel didn’t need Balthazar to help him deal with anything, because Dean already had. 

Not only had Dean gone out and taught each of the perpetrators a lesson for what they had made Castiel do, he had also helped Castiel feel good about himself again. He had made him realize that he had nothing to feel guilty for, because he hadn’t done anything wrong. It was Dean who reminded him how good sex could be, that it was a pleasurable thing, and Castiel had the power to say no to anything he didn’t want to do. Dean had made him see that he wasn’t a victim—he was a survivor.

“No,” he finally answered, opening his eyes. “I just saw it practically every day, and I used to talk to a few men who went through that. The stories they tell aren’t the kind you can ever forget.” 

Balthazar closed his eye in relief, and Castiel was glad that he accepted his word. He took a few moments to focus his thoughts to present matters. Once he did, Castiel brought the conversation back on track. “Balthazar, I owe it to Dean to be there and not just turn my back on him the way so many people have. He hardly has anyone to rely on, and do you know what happens to ex-convicts who don’t have someone to lean on when they get out? They struggle, and sooner or later they start to believe that prison is so much better than freedom. After everything Dean has done for me, I’m not going to let that happen to him.”

Balthazar scowled as best he could with his beat up face. Balthazar’s anger had vanished when he thought Castiel had been raped, but as soon as Castiel mentioned Dean’s name, it was like Balthazar remembered why he had been angry in the first place. “And what has he done for you?” Balthazar threw his arms out, and winced, bringing an arm around his stomach. Castiel wondered if he had a broken rib. “Tell me, darling. What has that murdering, good for nothing bastard done for you?”

“Don’t do that,” Castiel growled, worry over Balthazar’s assumed injury forgotten. “He’s done more for me than you could imagine. I wouldn’t have survived prison if it wasn’t for him. He helped me navigate the rules, and I sure as hell am not talking about the warden’s rules. Dean protected me from all the other inmates, made sure they left me alone even when they knew I was gay, and beat up anyone who even tried to touch me. He’s the one who helped me get the job at the prison library, and every time I thought that I would die in there, he’s told me over and over that I wasn’t going to.”

Castiel’s eyes misted, remembering just how much he had depended on Dean to get him through the two years he had been locked up. It made him even more determined to get Balthazar to see just how good of a man Dean was. 

“And I’m the one who’s been there for you from the moment you got arrested,” Balthazar shot back stubbornly. “I found the lawyer that got you exonerated. I visited you every week and called you every day and sent pictures and brought you anything you asked for. I was there for you when you got out, held you every time you had a nightmare, and kissed you every time you had a goddamn near heart attack because you weren’t sure what to buy at the market. I did all of that for you and more, and I did it because I love you, remember? 

“Yes, I remember,” Castiel said hoarsely, his heart breaking. 

“Do you, really? You stand there and try to get me to see how you went through so much shit, but so did I. Did you ever stop to think about how this whole thing affected me?” Balthazar demanded, placing a hand against his chest. “You’re not the only one who had to go through an ordeal, Castiel. I watched you get taken away in handcuffs, and every time we talked on the phone I had to sit on this fucking couch and hear how afraid you were. I couldn’t protect you, and I spent most nights lying awake thinking about what you might be going through. I was by myself out here fighting lawyers and police and the media trying to figure out how to get you out because I knew you didn’t belong there. You’re not the only one who suffered, Castiel, and it’s like you don’t even care.”

“Of course I care,” Castiel said, and the guilt at how much he had missed nearly overwhelmed him. Why didn’t it ever occur to him that he wasn’t the only one to experience such a life changing experience? “I’m grateful for everything you did for me, Balthazar. You’re the best husband anyone can ask for, and I’m so lucky that I have a dependable and loyal man in my life who stuck by me even after the mess my life became after that. I’m so sorry if it seems like I’m not, and you’re right, I should’ve realized that you suffered, too.” 

He lowered his eyes and they fell upon the numerous pages spread all over the ground. Dean’s name was bolded black, and his picture popped up in almost every single page. His mug shot was horrible, because of course the media had to use the one that had Dean all banged up from the car chase that occurred after the murder. Some had considered the chase an obvious sign of guilt, but Dean had explained that he had been a scared seventeen year old who just killed his best friend—of course he was going to run.

“If you’re that sorry, tell Dean to leave you alone.”

Castiel jerked his head up. “What?”

“If you really want to show me how sorry you are, stop hanging out with him.” Balthazar said coldly.

“Balthazar—“

“You’ll delete him from your phone and ignore any texts or calls from him. You’ll remove him from your life completely.”

Castiel stared at Balthazar, taking in the seriousness of his expression. This wasn’t a suggestion or a request. This was an outright demand, and Castiel knew that Balthazar would not back down. As guilty as he felt for his ignorance over Balthazar’s suffering, it wasn’t fair of Balthazar to use it against him. It wasn’t as though Castiel had intentionally ignored how the whole ordeal affected him, so how could Balthazar try to use it to his advantage that way? 

To turn away from Dean again after promising that he wasn’t going anywhere—it made him ache, and he knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t give his husband what he wanted.

So he straightened his shoulders and stared Balthazar dead in the eye. “No.”

Balthazar’s eyebrow twitched and his vein protruded on his forehead. Even with all the swelling on his face, he could tell just how pissed off his answer just made him.

“I would’ve fallen apart without Dean there to help me,” Castiel continued steadily, because to show weakness in this, to even falter for one second, would only make Balthazar push for his demands to be followed. “I owe it to him to be there for him now so he won’t fall apart out here.”

“You owe him nothing, Castiel. He’s a good for nothing—”

“No, he isn’t!” Castiel shouted. “Stop acting like you know him when you don’t! You’re making assumptions and forming opinions based on stupid articles written by reporters who will write anything just to get a good story.”

“So you’re telling me that none of the articles are true?”

“I’m telling you that you don’t know the full story. If you would just let me tell you what really happened—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Castiel. Dean doesn’t belong in our lives. He’s a black stain that’s only going to ruin the both of us if we continue to associate with him, and if you’re not going to get rid of him, I will.” Balthazar dug out his phone.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sure calling the police and letting them know that Dean attacked me will be information his parole officer will appreciate having.”

Eyes wide, Castiel shot forward and knocked Balthazar’s phone out of his hand. It fell on the floor. “Are you insane? He could go back to prison for that!”

“Precisely. It’s where he belongs.” Balthazar crouched down to retrieve his phone, but his injuries made him slower. It allowed Castiel to bend down and snatch the phone. He held it behind his back. Balthazar eyed him. “Give it to me, Castiel.”

“I won’t let you do that to him. He doesn’t deserve to be there.”

“It’s exactly where he deserves to be.” 

“No, he doesn’t!” Furiously, he threw the phone against the wall. It cracked and broke apart on impact, falling to the floor in pieces. 

Castiel glared at Balthazar, who looked at his phone with his jaw slack, surprise written all over his face. 

Balthazar slowly looked towards him, and he tilted his head. “So this is what it comes down to, does it? My own husband, choosing a convict over me.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Castiel said in frustration.

“That’s exactly what you’re doing, Castiel.” He pointed at his phone. “Or are you too blind to see what you just did?”

“I’m not choosing him over you!” Castiel grabbed at his head, trying to figure out how to get through Balthazar’s thick skull. “I just want you to not fight me on this. Dean is my friend, and I can’t turn my back on him. Please, Balthazar,” he beseeched. “Just trust me and let me have this.”

“Trust you?” Balthazar barked out a laugh of disbelief. “You expect me to trust you? After last night? After you just told me that you refuse to end your association with him?” He looked Castiel up and down, and there was a glint disappointment. Seeing that had Castiel’s stomach plummeting straight to the ground. He had never disappointed him before, and seeing it in Balthazar’s eye now made him feel a little hollow. “I’m starting to think that the man I married isn’t the same man I once fell in love with.”

Castiel slowly sat back down on the couch. He wanted to assure Balthazar that he was the man he had always been, that he hadn’t changed. It would be a lie, though, because prison—and Dean—had changed him. He tried to be the same, and for a while it seemed like he had managed it, but looking back at the last three years, he realized that he hadn’t managed it at all. He had merely hidden it behind smiles and laughter. He still had nightmares that he didn’t tell Balthazar about, still took a second to make eye contact with any male stranger who was taller and broader than him. Only now did it become clear that he stopped being the man Balthazar knew from the moment he walked into prison. 

No, he dimly realized. He stopped being that man the moment he had met Dean.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, lowering his gaze.

Balthazar stood in front of him for several seconds before he turned around and walked away. Castiel followed the sounds of his footsteps up the stairs and into their bedroom. The door slammed shut, and Castiel rubbed at his face tiredly. He was so very tired.

After a while of brooding, he lifted his head and took in all the articles still scattered around him. He picked them up, and while it was unavoidable to glance at headlines and bylines, he didn’t bother actually reading any of the articles. He already knew what they all said and it would be pointless reading material when he had the actual story. Once he picked everything up, he placed it on the coffee table. It drew his attention to his phone. Castiel poked at the home button, but the phone remained off. It was probably dead.

He headed towards his home office, finding his charger and plugging his phone. He sat behind his desk and turned his phone on. As soon as the home screen popped up, it displayed the little icon that indicated missed calls. It also said he had three texts waiting for him. He glanced at the missed calls and all were from Dean. The texts were also from Dean, and he decided to read them first. The first was an apology for how the night had gone down yesterday. The second was a good morning that had been sent a few hours ago. The recent one had been sent half an hour ago, with Dean asking if he was okay.

Instead of responding via text, Castiel pressed one to speed dial Dean’s phone. He picked up on the first ring. “Cas?”

“Hi,” he said softly.

“Jesus, man, I was getting worried. Are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

Dean didn’t believe him. “You don’t sound all right.” 

Castiel leaned back in his leather chair. It squeaked with his movements. “Balthazar came back and threw articles at me.”

“Articles?”

“He put two and two together and figured out you were convicted of murder.”

Dean muttered a vicious curse. “How?”

“I guess when you told me about Winchesters being tough, it sounded familiar to him and he did a little research.” Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. It occurred to him that he hadn’t even brushed his teeth yet, or eaten. He wasn’t all that hungry, though. The fight with Balthazar had completely killed his appetite. “So he knows everything, and he’s not too happy about it.”

Dean sighed, the exhale of breath faint over the phone. “So what happened?”

“We fought. He was pissed and he was making me mad about things he was saying, and then he stomped away. He’s in our bedroom right now, and I’m assuming I’m barred from entering.”

“Jesus,” Dean muttered. “I’m glad you called, though. I was getting worried.”

Castiel smiled tiredly. “Sorry about that. My phone died sometime in the middle of the night. I’m only now charging it.” He threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the sunlight coming in. He almost felt hung over. His head hurt and his stomach was churning unpleasantly. “I didn’t even make it to bed. I slept on the couch.”

“Well, it did look comfortable.”

“It was,” Castiel acknowledged, “but I couldn’t really enjoy it. I barely slept.”

“If it makes you feel better, neither did I.”

Castiel lowered his arm. “You’re injuries?”

“I’ve had worse, if I’m honest.” What could be worse than what Balthazar had done to him? Castiel had seen the damage done to his face, and he couldn’t help but cringe. Dean didn’t sound like he was in pain, though. “But I was mostly worried about you. I didn’t really like leaving you alone.”

“You didn’t have to worry. If anything, I’m the one who had every right to worry.” He sighed heavily. “Did you go to a hospital like I suggested?”

“I stopped by a clinic,” Dean responded. “The worst Balthazar gave me was a cracked rib. Everything else either required stitches or was superficial enough that some gauze was needed. The swelling will go down in a few days, and the bruises will go away in a week or two.”

“That’s good.”

“What about Balthazar? Did I get him too bad?”

Castiel blinked up at the ceiling, and with some guilt he realized that he had never asked if Balthazar was okay. He had noted his injuries, noticed they had been treated, and Balthazar had said he had been treated by a nurse, but Castiel had never bothered to ask what other injuries he may have other than the ones on his face. He didn’t even ask if he was okay. He had been too flustered by the confrontation and the argument that followed.

“He’s walking,” was all he said. Glancing over to the couch he had in his office, he stood up and unplugged his charger, carrying it with him over to the couch. He plugged it into the outlet next to the couch and put his phone on speaker. He lay down, stretching out his legs and settling the phone close to his ear. “If he’s okay enough to yell at me, than he’ll live.” It didn’t exactly answer Dean’s question, but it did provide some justification to Castiel’s lack of thought of asking after his own husband’s welfare.

“You sound real down, angel,” Dean said softly, but Castiel got the impression that he wasn’t stating the obvious. He was just making a general comment. “Do you want to go out for drinks or something later?”

Castiel thought about it, and the temptation to go nearly had him saying yes, but then he thought about Balthazar upstairs in their room, angry and upset over Dean. If Castiel said yes and they went out, then it would be like rubbing his friendship with Dean in Balthazar’s face. Maybe another day. With much reluctance and regret, he said, “I think it’s better that we don’t see each other for a while. It won’t help if I see you now after the argument Balthazar and I just had about you. I need to see if I could get him to talk me, and I won’t earn any points by seeing you.”

“All right, then.” There was a long pause. “But we can still talk on the phone, right?”

“Of course.” They could always do it out of ear shot of Balthazar, and they could always text if talking wasn’t possible. He curled up on his side. “Talk to me?”

“About?”

“Anything,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “I just want to hear your voice.” There was another long pause, and he opened his eyes to stare at his phone. Did the call drop? “Dean?”

“I’m here,” Dean replied quickly. He sounded kind of flustered. “How about I tell you about the time that my dad took me and Sam to our first baseball game?”

Castiel smiled. “I’d like to hear it.” He closed his eyes again. “I might fall asleep on you, though.”

“That’s fine. Go to sleep. I’ll still be here for you.” Dean cleared his throat. “All right, well, I was eight years old, and Sammy was just four years old, and my Dad surprised us with tickets to a ball game, right?”

Castiel chuckled and made a sound to alert Dean that he was paying attention. As Dean continued his story, excitement in his voice, his voice lulled Castiel to sleep with a smile on his face.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, please forgive my inability to count, because as you can see, the chapter count went up to five. That's because there are actually five chapters, not four, so the next chapter is the last. 
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and Kudos!

No one could accuse Castiel of not trying to make up with his husband. The days following their fight were filled with tension, and no matter how many times Castiel tried to get him to talk to him, Balthazar rebuffed him. When they were in the same room, Balthazar outright ignored him. He didn’t even look at him. It was like he didn’t exist, and Castiel’s emotions kept jumping from despondency and guilt over the secrets he kept to being frustrated and angry at Balthazar for not wanting to talk to him. It really depended on the time of day. He might wake up in the morning guilty and go to bed at night angry. 

It reached the point where Castiel didn’t even want to go home after work. He was always met with either an empty house without an explanation to Balthazar’s whereabouts or he had to deal with Balthazar pretending like he wasn’t there. 

The nights, though, were the worst. He slept in the guest bedroom, going into their shared bedroom only to retrieve things he needed, and every time he did Balthazar never acknowledged him. The bed in the guest bedroom was big and comfortable, but it made Castiel feel so alone. He was used to sleeping with someone beside him. 

Days continued to pass in strained silence between them, and before Castiel knew it, he was spending Thanksgiving alone eating the turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and vegetables he had spent hours making while Balthazar went out and returned home drunk around two in the morning.

Happy fucking Thanksgiving to him.

The only bright spots of his days were his conversations with Dean. He made him forget for a little while that his husband was freezing him out, so whenever he had a chance he would text or call Dean and they would talk about little things that didn’t really matter. It was nice and made him feel good. Made him feel like he still mattered to someone.

It was past eight when Castiel gathered his things at his office. His firm worked in a three-story building, with their offices occupying the second floor. Other than the janitor who was currently pushing a rumbling buffering machine across the floors and the lone security guard manning the lobby, he was the only other occupant in the building. He hated that it was becoming a regular thing for him to leave so late when he used to get out no later than five or six.

Once he gathered his belongings, he zipped up his bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. He locked up his office and waved at the elderly janitor, who smiled and wished him a good night. Castiel took the stairs to the lobby and said good bye to the security guard sitting behind a wooden curved counter where six screens displayed multiple images of the building’s rooms and hallways. 

He stepped out of the lobby and had only taken a few steps forward to head to his car when he realized that a car was parked right in front, and that the man leaning against it was none other than Dean Winchester.

Dean smiled as Castiel approached him. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” Though he was pleased to see Dean—downright happy, in fact, because they hadn’t seen each other since the disastrous dinner over a week ago—he grimaced as he took in Dean’s face. Castiel knew that what he was seeing probably wasn’t as bad as it had been several days ago when the bruises were fresh, but the yellow and green mottling his skin made him wince. His nose had a small band aid on the bridge of it.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Dean assured him with a smile. Right in the center of his bottom lip was a vertical scab, evidence of a split lip. Comparing his injuries to Balthazar’s, Castiel couldn’t decide who got it worse. It made him feel awful knowing that it was because of him that they were wounded like that. “At least all the swelling is gone, right?”

“And your rib?” he asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Healing. Don’t freak out if I wince here and there, though. It twinges whenever I move too fast.”

Castiel stopped right in front of him. “What are you doing here?” He frowned. “Actually, how did you know I’d be here this late?”

“You kept mentioning how late you’ve been leaving work.” Dean shrugged. “Took a shot.” He grinned and pushed away from the car. 

Castiel gasped, realizing that car wasn’t the Honda Civic he had grown accustomed to seeing whenever Dean drove. “Is that—?”

“Baby?” Dean beamed and patted the hood, looking the vehicle over with a proud eye. “It sure is.”

The Impala gleamed, looking almost as good as new. There were hardly any scratches or dents visible. Castiel had never seen the car in person, only in pictures, and while he didn’t really know that much about cars, he was smart enough to know that the Impala was a classic beauty. 

He said as much. “She’s beautiful, Dean. I can understand why you wanted to fix her up.”

“I knew you’d understand. My brother just teases me for having an unhealthy affair with machinery, but he’s kind of dumb, so I forgive him for his lack of intelligence.”

Castiel snorted in amusement. “You said that to him, didn’t you?”

“I sure did.” Dean didn’t look remorseful, either. He opened the passenger door and reached inside, pulling out a white plastic bag. Castiel could make out small cartons inside of it. “Chinese.”

Castiel perked up and his stomach grumbled hungrily. “Broccoli beef?”

Dean grinned and winked. “Of course.” He swung the bag back and forth. “I want to celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?” Castiel asked as he walked closer. “That car?”

“I signed a lease to an apartment today.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. He grinned wide. “Congratulations. Where?”

“Not too far from the auto shop. It’s a decent place in a nice neighborhood. Not too many nosy neighbors, so less of a chance of any of them figuring out my past and making my life difficult.” Dean cleared his throat slightly. “I thought maybe you’d want to come and check it out?”

Castiel’s smile drained away. Dean had once described to him how he would decorate his own place, complete with leather couches and a huge plasma television, and he could tell from the twinkle in his eye that Dean was excited about having his own place. Castiel really wanted to see it, to imagine how it would look once Dean had decorated it, but he hesitated. 

Dean caught his hesitation, and he lowered his arm. “Too soon to hang out?” he questioned softly. 

“No, no. In fact, I was going to call you, see if you wanted to go out for lunch or something later this week.” It had reached a point where Castiel had needed to see Dean, so this surprise visit was appreciated in more ways than one. “But if I go to your apartment and it somehow gets back to Balthazar, that’ll just make things worse between us.”

“He still hasn’t spoken to you?”

“Not a word.” And just thinking about going home this late, knowing that the only thing that would greet him would be cold looks and tense silence, had him grabbing the take-out bag. “We can go to that drive-in movie theater and catch the late show while we eat this.”

Dean didn’t even have to think about it. He stepped aside and gestured towards the passenger seat with a sweep of his hand. “After you, sir.”

Castiel chuckled as he climbed in, settling the Chinese food on his lap. He could smell the fragrance and it had his mouth watering. By the time Dean had slipped behind the wheel, Castiel was already tearing apart a fortune cookie. He tugged the piece of paper out.

“What does it say?” Dean asked, starting the car. 

Castiel peered at it, using the lamppost as his source of light before Dean pulled away and starting heading out of the parking lot. He snorted. “It says ‘Not every boundary crossed will lead to destruction.’” He glanced at Dean. “What do you think that means?” He threw a piece of the fortune cookie into his mouth.

“Who knows? There’s probably at least a hundred of those same fortunes floating around.”

“True.” 

Castiel finished his fortune cookie and settled back in his seat, quiet as Dean drove them to one of the city’s few drive-in theaters. He ran his hand over the interior of the car, feeling the softness of his seat and the smoothness of the dashboard, impressed by Dean’s skill. He did have a talent when it came to cars, and Castiel wondered where Dean would be if he hadn’t gone to prison. Maybe he’d be his own boss, owning his own auto shop.

He glanced at Dean, smiling as the older man sang to the music pouring out of the stereo, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. For all they knew, maybe Dean will become the owner of his own auto shop. Castiel believed in him.

Once they reached the theater, Castiel wasn’t surprised to see very few cars parked in front of the jumbo-sized white screen that was currently playing _The Shining_. It was the middle of the week, and most patrons had probably arrived for an earlier show so they could get home in time for bed. Dean easily found a space close to the screen and shut off the car. He reached behind their seats and pulled out a six-pack. 

“Come on,” Dean said, opening his door. “Let’s eat on the hood.”

Castiel followed suit and, with Chinese food in hand, sat on top of the hood next to Dean. They opened up the take out bag—which held six individual cartons and two sets of chopsticks—and Castiel distributed them across the hood between them. Each carton was marked with initials on top, and he rightly assumed that the carton marked ‘BB’ was the broccoli beef. He inhaled deeply. “Good call, Winchester,” he murmured as he grabbed his chopsticks and immediately dug in. “I really needed this.”

“Have you been eating?” Dean asked, a touch of concern in his tone.

“Trying,” Castiel admitted. He pried open a carton of white rice. “But I get home so late that the last thing I want to do is make anything. Most of the time I’m not even hungry.”

“Probably the stress.” Dean guzzled down a good portion of the beer he opened for himself. “That’s not good for you.”

“I can’t help it. With Balthazar freezing me out and refusing to listen to a word I say, just being in the same house as him is stressful. Sometimes I don’t even want to go home.” 

They were quiet for a while, eating and enjoying the movie. Lucky for them, they had only missed the beginning of it, though Castiel had watched the movie a couple of times before so it wasn’t that big of a deal. Their silence was interrupted by something rattling against the hood. Castiel glanced down and realized it was Dean’s phone vibrating due to an incoming call.

Dean picked it up and glanced at the screen before putting the phone back down. 

“Who was it?” Castiel asked.

Dean glanced at him. “Lisa.”

Castiel’s hand faltered as he was grasping a bit of the white rice. He stared at the white little grains. He had forgotten about Lisa. He had been so focused on Balthazar and the current state of their marriage that he forgot that Dean had a life of his own, one that had a blossoming romance with a woman he had fallen hard and fast for. 

“Aren’t you going to respond to her?” Castiel asked.

“In a bit.”

Castiel slanted a glance towards him. “How are you and Lisa doing?” 

“Good. Very good. Getting to know her son and everything.”

“Good.” Castiel frowned a little at Dean’s vague answers. Dean had never been shy about sharing his conquests, so maybe he was being shy because Lisa _wasn’t_ a conquest? Castiel couldn’t think of anything else. The phone buzzed again, and Dean read the message, but put it down. “She’s probably speculating why you’re not responding fast enough.”

Dean set aside his empty carton of what had been orange chicken. He looked at Castiel. “What makes you think that?”

Castiel hesitated before shrugging. “Aren’t couples in love usually texting each other every other minute or so?”

Dean laughed. “True.” His gaze went a little unfocused and Castiel felt like he was seeing right through him. He wondered if he was thinking about contacting her now that Castiel had brought it up. He scowled slightly and looked away before Dean could notice. If that was the case, now he wished he hadn’t said anything. As of that moment, it was his time with Dean. They hadn’t seen each other for over a week and Castiel selfishly didn’t want his brand new girlfriend intruding. Dean was his right now.

As soon as he thought it, all thoughts came to a screeching halt. Not only did he sound petty over a woman he hadn’t even met, he sounded _possessive_ , like Dean was some kind of toy he was currently playing with and was refusing to share until his time was up. There was so many things wrong with that, and it made him feel small. He had no right to be feeling any of those things, because Lisa was important to Dean. Their romance might have been a whirlwind romance, but it was a romance nonetheless. If there was anyone who had a right to feel those things, it was Lisa, not Castiel.

_“I know jealousy when I see it._ ”

Balthazar’s words haunted him. He had denied being jealous and for the most part, he still did. But then, why did he feel like something precious had been stolen from him?

He didn’t want to think about it. Castiel faced Dean, taken aback for a second when he found Dean’s eyes staring intently at him. Castiel smiled slightly. “So go ahead and text her. Send her a little heart.”

“A heart?” Dean asked, bewildered.

“Yeah.” Castiel dug out his phone and pulled open a fresh text message. He typed in the heart emoticon and sent it to Dean. He jutted his chin toward it when it vibrated slightly. Dean grabbed it and opened up the message. “See?” Castiel tapped the screen to emphasize the heart shape. “Send her one of those.”

Dean seemed to be studying the message for a bit before he turned to Castiel. “Show me,” he practically demanded. Castiel did, telling him which of the buttons to press. Dean followed his instructions, and when he sent it, Castiel jumped when his phone pinged. He grabbed it and found that Dean had sent him the heart. 

Even though this was a test, it had Castiel squirming happily. He smiled, especially when he caught the pleased grin on Dean’s face. “Good. You should send one to Lisa.” Dean’s grin faltered. He looked down at his phone, looking surprisingly discouraged. “Dean?” Castiel questioned. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” The words were too forced to be genuine, as was the smile Dean gave him. It wasn’t Dean’s real smile. It was too big and too wide, and his eyes weren’t glowing the way they usually did whenever Dean smiled sincerely. “I’m just a little. . .” He trailed off and sighed. “Never mind, ignore me.”

“No, Dean.” Castiel touched his shoulder. “Talk to me,” he urged, shaking Dean’s shoulder lightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dean assured him. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

Castiel bit his lip and glanced at the screen. “We can always leave,” he suggested. “I mean, we’ve both seen the movie before, so we don’t have to stay until the end.”

Dean inhaled sharply and slowly let it out. “We’re staying.” Dean smiled at him and reclined back on the hood, wincing slightly with the movement. “Don’t worry about me.”

Castiel subsided and mimicked Dean’s pose, lying back and propping his upper body up with his elbows. He focused on the movie, but it was hard when all he could think about was the man lying next to him. The atmosphere was suddenly awkward and he wasn’t sure how to fix it, not when he didn’t know what was wrong to begin with. 

“Can I ask you something?” Dean asked abruptly.

Castiel glanced at him, taking in Dean’s profile. “Yes, of course. You can ask me anything.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Why did you marry Balthazar?”

Out of all the questions Dean might have asked, Castiel certainly hadn’t expected that, nor did he quite understand why Dean was asking in the first place. “What?”

“You heard me.” Dean finally looked at him and his expression was closed off. It was a complete blank, making it difficult for Castiel to read him. “What made you decide to marry Balthazar after swearing you’d end it?”

Castiel should have seen this coming, now that he got what Dean was specifically asking for. Of course Dean would have questions about the changes to their plans. How could he not after everything Castiel had promised him? He wondered why it took Dean so long to ask it. “I know I said some things before I left,” he began, but Dean swiftly interrupted him before he could speak any further.

“You swore you’d leave him. You said you’d wait for me, that you’d write to me and visit. It wasn’t like I was in a different state, Cas. I was right here, within driving distance. And you didn’t say _some things_. You made promises.”

To have it said so bluntly and be reminded that Castiel had planned to leave Balthazar for Dean had a knot forming in his throat. It made speaking difficult. “I know,” he croaked. 

“Then why did you marry Balthazar?” 

With that blank expression still intact, Castiel just couldn’t figure out what was going on through Dean’s head. He thought about how to answer Dean’s question, but it was difficult to find the words. When he finally did figure out a way to explain it, he said, “Because he’s a good man. He has a good heart. He loves me unconditionally, and I knew that he’d make me happy for the rest of my life.”

Dean nodded slowly before letting his head fall back. He watched the stars. “And because you love him, right?”

“Of course,” Castiel confirmed, a little confused. “I wouldn’t have married him if I didn’t.” Dean laughed softly, which only added to Castiel’s confusion. “Is there something funny about that?” Dean shook his head, but he still wasn’t looking at Castiel. At the prolonged silence, Castiel finally reached out and grasped Dean’s shoulder again, gripping it gently. “Dean, what’s going on?

Dean didn’t respond. At least, not verbally. 

He slid off the hood, movements carefully controlled, and Castiel watched him curiously. Once Dean was off the hood, he stood in front of Castiel and grabbed his legs. Castiel tensed when Dean spread them wide enough to move in between them. He sat straight up, and their chests bumped. “Dean?” he asked, alarmed as Dean grasped Castiel’s face between his palms. “What are you—?” 

Dean kissed him, smothering the rest of his words. Castiel froze, eyes going wide with shock. His frozen state lasted for all of two seconds before he closed his eyes. The kiss was slow and sweet at first, only to intensify as seconds turned into minutes, and soon Castiel had his legs wrapped around Dean’s waist, dragging him closer until there wasn’t even an inch between them. His body lighted up with a burning fire that consumed him until he thought he would burst. He grabbed the back of Dean’s head, preventing him from pulling back before he got his fill of Dean’s mouth.

In the back of his mind somewhere, he knew this was wrong. Dean had done this before and Castiel had let the kiss drag on for too long before putting a stop to it. He was doing the same thing all over again, letting Dean’s touch and mouth take over his mind and body until all Castiel wanted was Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean. 

Dean finally pulled away, and Castiel let out a little moan of protest. He opened his eyes partially, and took in Dean’s half-lidded gaze and his swollen lips, cheeks flushed. Castiel was proud for being the one to put that aroused expression on his face. Castiel briefly wondered if he had the same look on his own face.

“I thought that a few hints would be enough for you to get it,” Dean muttered, lifting a hand to rub at Castiel’s lower lip.

“Hints?” He was still trapped in a lustful fog, and he didn’t understand why Dean stopped kissing him. He wanted more kisses and swayed forward to get them. Dean allowed one kiss before pushing him away slightly. 

“Friendship isn’t exactly what I was looking for when I found you.”

Rationality slowly returned, and only when he remembered that he was in the arms of a man he wasn’t married to did he snap out of his aroused haze. He gasped at his conduct and placed his hands against Dean, leaning back as far as he could, but Dean tightened his hold on him, his arms wrapped around Dean’s waist. The end result was about two feet of space between them. 

“I wanted to try, though, for you,” Dean added, and Castiel couldn’t do anything except stay put and listen over the loud pounding of his heart, eyes wide and locked on Dean, who watched him carefully. “The way I saw it, it was either be friends and have you in my life, or walk away and never see you again, and the second option didn’t appeal to me, so I took a shot and asked you to lunch so we could start becoming friends.

“And it worked for a while,” Dean continued. “We were becoming friends and I was able to convince myself that that is all I needed. But then that night at the ice-cream parlor, do you remember what you told me?”

Castiel nodded slowly. How could he forget? He had said it to boost Dean’s confidence, but that didn’t make them any less meaningful or true. He finally found his voice and asked, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It has to do with everything, because that’s when it changed. That’s when I realized that being friends with you just isn’t enough.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said, anxiety spiking his heart even more until he was afraid it would burst right out of his chest. 

“I decided that if I was going to get what I wanted, I had to make you come to me. It wouldn’t work any other way. It had to be your choice, otherwise you would hate me for the rest of your life and I couldn’t have you hating me.”

Dean licked his lips, and Castiel realized that he seemed a little frantic, his speech spoken faster than normal. It was like he was trying to get the words out as fast as possible, and Castiel figured out why within seconds. Dean wasn’t the kind of guy to discuss feelings or to admit to anything related to emotion. That was probably why Dean’s first instinct was to kiss him. Act first and talk after if necessary. 

He had very little empathy for Dean’s struggles to communicate when Castiel was drowning in confusion. “So, what, you’ve been lying to me this whole time?” Anger bloomed at the prospect. “Were you just trying to wiggle your way back into my bed?”

“No,” Dean denied, shocked. It seemed genuine enough to give Castiel pause. “God, no, Cas. Can’t you see it? Every touch, every look—babe, that was me telling you that I want you, that I miss you, that I need you. I was practically telling you how I felt every time we looked at each other, but you kept giving me mixed signals.”

“Mixed signals? I wasn’t giving you mixed signals. I wasn’t giving you anything.”

“Yes, you were.” Dean’s eyes flashed with frustration. “I couldn’t tell if you got what I was doing or not, because sometimes you would look at me a certain way or say something and I would think, yes, he gets it. But then minutes later you’d do or say something else and I’d think that you don’t get it at all.” Dean unwound one arm from Castiel’s waist and cupped his cheek. “Last week you told me you needed to hear my voice. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes further. “What about Lisa?” he demanded. “You told me—”

“She has nothing to do with this.”

“She has everything to do with this! You’re in a relationship with her, you should be telling her all your corny shit, not me. This is wrong, and you fucking know it.”

“Of course I know it’s wrong,” Dean snapped. “But Lisa—look, she’s my friend and yes, we’ve been sleeping together, but all that shit about whirlwind romance? I lied.”

Castiel gaped. “You lied? What for?”

“Because I couldn’t exactly say that the person I’m interested in is you, okay? At the ice-cream parlor, when you kept pushing me to say who I liked, what was I going to say? That you’re the one I want?”

Castiel trembled, unsure of how to handle this new twist in what he had considered to be Dean’s blossoming life with someone. “I would’ve—” He wanted to say that he would have graciously accepted it and turned him down gently, but he stilled his tongue because he wasn’t sure if that was a lie or not. 

“You would’ve told me to go to hell and walked away from me, Cas. That’s what you would’ve done.”

“But at my house—during the dinner with Balthazar, you said that you have someone in your life and that it was Lisa.”

“No. You said her name, not me. I just went with it, because again, can’t exactly say what I really want to say.” 

This was more than Castiel could handle, and because he wasn’t sure what to do with the information Dean was giving him, Castiel fell back on anger. “You lied to me. I was trying to be your friend, Dean, and all this time you were just manipulating me for your own selfish reasons. Was this all just a game to you?”

“I would never play with you like that, Cas.” Deans scowled deeply. “I wanted to tell you the truth, and there were a couple of times I almost did, but there was never a right time to tell you what I really wanted, so I just had to hope that somehow someway you’d read my signals and figure it yourself.”

“Why now?” Castiel demanded furiously. “Why tell me all this now?”

Dean pulled away, finally releasing Castiel completely in order to run his hands through his hair. He began to pace. “Lisa found out about my past a while back. She figured it out on her own when she was doing research on something and somehow stumbled upon my name on an internet search.” Dean licked his lips and glanced at Castiel, as though making sure he was paying attention. “She believes me, Cas. She doesn’t believe any of that bullcrap about me killing Jonathan because he was screwing around with Cassandra.”

“That doesn’t explain why—”

Dean spoke right over him. “She and I are friends with benefits. No strings attached, that was the arrangement when we started sleeping together. But then—” Dean stopped pacing and turned to look at him. “I spent Thanksgiving with her and her son, Ben, and after all the dishes were washed and Ben was put to bed, she told me that she doesn’t want to be friends with benefits anymore. She wants an actual relationship and wanted to know if I was willing to give it a try.” 

“That’s well and good for you,” Castiel muttered darkly, and if he had been in a better mood, he might have been happy for him, but right at that moment, he didn’t care about Dean’s happiness. He wanted answers, and he didn’t like how Dean wasn’t answering his question. “But if you’re not going to answer what I’m asking then I’m leaving.” He began to slide off the hood. “I’ll fucking walk back if I—”

Dean surged forward and trapped him against the hood, hands slapping on either side and blocking him in. Castiel glared at him. Dean looked determined and Castiel wondered if he would have to punch him, because even though he had only thrown a punch a handful of times in his entire life and Dean could undoubtedly kick his ass, he was willing to do it if it meant getting away from him. 

“I didn’t tell her yes. I couldn’t tell her yes, not when the first thing that came to mind was you. That’s why I’m telling you the truth now, because I can’t wait for you to figure it out. I needed to know if I have even the slightest chance with you before I walk away.”

“The slightest chance? Dean, I have a husband, remember?”

“I know that,” Dean snapped. “Doesn’t mean I still don’t want you.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Castiel closed his eyes, trying to stay calm. It was a difficult feat and he wasn’t sure if he was accomplishing it. As angry as he was, though, he was also scared and uncertain, not sure what to do with the revelations Dean was handing him. He hadn’t been prepared for this at all, and with everything going on with Balthazar, it was just one more thing for Castiel to deal with. “Why did you have to do this?” he whispered. “Why couldn’t we just stay like we were?”

“Because I’m done pretending,” Dean said harshly. “I’m done acting like I’m fine with us just being friends.” Dean cupped Castiel’s face. He opened his eyes and Dean watched him closely. “I want _you_ , Cas. Not just as a friend, but as a lover. I want you so much that I feel like I can’t breathe without you. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about when I go to bed. I can’t get your laughter out of my head, and you’re smile—” He rubbed Castiel’s lower lip. “Your smile is so goddamn beautiful. Even when I’m in a shitty mood, all I have to do is think about your smile and I suddenly feel like the world isn’t such a bad place.” 

Castiel breathed shakily. Dean’s words had his stomach twisting unpleasantly, but in a striking contrast, his heart seemed to swell with a more hopeful emotion. Hope for what, though? The entire situation was hopeless, because even though Dean was looking at him so earnestly, touching him adoringly and saying such tender words, it didn’t change the one thing that Dean seemed to be ignoring. 

“I’m married, Dean,” he said resolutely. Despite how rocky his marriage currently was, out of all the confusing mess of feelings and thoughts that roiled around inside of him, Castiel’s marriage was the only solid thing he knew. He latched onto it before he splintered apart. “If I have to say it a thousand times, I will, because you have to accept that.”

“Then why did you kiss me back?”

Dean brushed their lips together again, this time the touch brief and chaste and giving Castiel no time to react, negatively or positively. Castiel stared at Dean as the other man pulled away to stare him at seriously. “There’s only so much I’m willing to take before I break.”

“That isn’t my fault,” Castiel defended himself, refusing to take the blame for Dean’s misery. “You were the one who suggested being friends first and I thought we were accomplishing that.”

“ _You_ were accomplishing that,” Dean muttered bitterly. “Okay, I ain’t going to lie, I’m the one who suggested it first, but only because it was the only way to have you in my life. But I didn’t go looking for you to be your friend. I want to hold you and kiss you. I want you in my _bed_. That’s what I want and I can’t—” Dean thinned his lips and pulled away again. He tilted his head up and stared at the dark, cloudy sky. “I can’t pretend anymore, angel. I just can’t.”

There was something so final about Dean’s words, and a sort of numbness began to take over. A hollow, black pit opened up inside of him. “What are you saying? That we can’t be friends anymore?” He stared at Dean, who continued to look up at the sky. The hollow pit deepened. “Either I give you what I want or we stop being friends, is that it? All or nothing.”

Dean took a deep breath and lowered his head, but he didn’t look Castiel in the eye. His gaze was averted. “I’m letting you go.”

Castiel reacted without a thought. He shoved Dean hard, and pain flashed in Dean’s eyes, but he didn’t care. He was too furious to consider Dean’s recovering injuries. In fact, the bastard deserved it. 

“The whole reason why Balthazar isn’t speaking to me is because of you. I told him that I wasn’t going to toss you aside and abandon you because you are my friend. I chose you over him!” The irony of saying that, after vehemently denying doing such a thing when Balthazar accused him of it, only made him even angrier. “I can’t believe this!” He turned around and slammed the hood of the car before leaning against it, glaring at the black surface. “You are completely inconsiderate and—and _selfish_.” He spun around and pinned his glare on him. “How can you do this to me?”

Dean stepped closer, but came to a halt when Castiel lifted a hand. “Because I can’t pretend that I don’t have feelings for you, angel,” Dean said quietly. “I can’t turn them off and I know it’s only going to get harder the longer I go acting like I’m happy with just friendship. It’s exhausting.” Dean stared him down. “I’m tired of pretending, Cas. Aren’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” Castiel scoffed. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Aren’t you?” Dean said again. He spoke so softly, looking at Castiel with a penetrative gaze. It was like he was trying to tell him something, but Castiel wasn’t sure what.

They stared at each other for several seconds before Castiel coldly said, “I think you should take me back to my car now.” He didn’t wait for a response. He walked towards the passenger side and opened the door, getting in and slamming the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest and brooded. 

He watched as Dean cleared away the cartons and beer cans that had been on the hood, and when Dean entered the car Castiel turned away and stared out the window. He was too upset to even look at him and his chest _hurt._ It was like Dean had reached right into his chest and squeezed his heart until it was nothing but dust. How could Dean just decide to end their friendship like that? 

The ride to Castiel’s office was silent and thick with tension. Castiel could feel Dean’s looking at him from time to time, but Castiel didn’t so much as peek in his direction. He just stared out the window, watching the scenery pass by without paying attention to what he was really looking at, not until Dean’s car slowed to a stop in front of Castiel’s office building.

He didn’t get out of the car at first, just stared up at the building absently, because as furious and upset as he was at Dean for doing this, he wasn’t so blinded by his emotions not to see that this was it. Once he walked out of the car, he would never see Dean again.

“I don’t want to leave it like this,” Dean said quietly.

Castiel shut his eyes. “Do you expect me to smile?” he muttered sarcastically.

“I expect you to look at me.”

He reopened his eyes and after a couple of beats, he turned to look at him. Dean was visibly devastated, his expression crushed. Seeing such a vulnerable expression on his face pulled at Castiel’s heartstrings. This was hard on Dean, too, he realized. Despite his subtle attempts to get Castiel back, and his horrible decision to drop this kind of revelation on him, Dean was doing something he felt was needed. Castiel wasn’t willing to walk away from Balthazar to be with him, and if the friendship was that painful—well, how could Castiel be mad at him for walking away? He didn’t want to lose Dean, and he still thought it unfair of Dean to make it into an all or nothing situation, but it would also be unfair of Castiel to expect Dean to remain friends with him when all it did was hurt him. 

It broke his heart to realize it, and his anger slowly drained away until the only thing left was sadness. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I wish—”

“Don’t.” Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel before reaching out towards Castiel’s face with one hand. He hesitated inches away, but when Castiel didn’t pull back, Dean closed the gap and cupped his cheek. “Wishes are only possible when you make them happen.” He smiled sadly. “My mom used to say that.”

“She was a wise woman.”

“She certainly was.”

As they stared at each other in the dark interior of the car, Castiel didn’t know what else to say. He swallowed thickly, and lifted his hand to touch the back of Dean’s hand still cupping his cheek. He nuzzled against his palm, and he bit his lip as his jaw began to tremble and his eyes grew a bit moist. 

“I have to go,” Castiel said thickly, dropping his hand and taking Dean’s with it. He didn’t let go, though. Not yet. 

“Take care of yourself, angel.”

“You, too.” Castiel forced a smile. “Be happy, Dean.”

“I’ll try.” Dean laughed brokenly. “I’m going to say yes to Lisa, and maybe get that happily ever after we always talked about.”

Castiel’s heart clenched. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, and he knew he had to get out of the car. The air inside was stifling, and he was barely holding it together. “Bye, Dean.” He opened the door and slid his hand out of Dean’s.

“Cas?” Castiel froze with one foot already out on the pavement, but he didn’t turn around to look at him. “The only thing I wanted more than my freedom was you.” Castiel drew in a shaky breath at those words. “I just wanted you to know that.”

What could he say to that? Try to apologize again? Give his thanks? Smile? Cry?

In the end, Castiel simply grabbed his briefcase and stepped out of the car. He closed the door before the temptation to linger grew too strong to resist and he walked to his car, putting one foot in front of the other. He kept his eyes on his car as he approached it and he didn’t look back, not once.

When he reached his car, he slipped inside and tossed his briefcase on the passenger seat. The urge to break down was nearly irresistible, but he held it together as he turned on the ignition. Refusing to think about what just happened, he kept his mind blank and turned on the radio, going through stations until he found one that played eighties pop. He focused on the lyrics of each song that played as he drove out of the parking lot and headed towards home, trying to hold the storm stirring inside to him at bay. 

The house was dark when he arrived, which had been the norm for the past several days, but for once he didn’t care if Balthazar was out or already in bed. He focused on getting through his nightly routine instead, trying not to think about Dean as he brushed and flossed while avoiding his reflection. He stripped out of his work clothes and stepped into his cotton pants, dumping his dirty clothes on the floor and kicking them to the side before walking to bed.

When he finally crawled beneath the covers, he turned off the lights and moved onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with his hands clasped on his stomach. With the shadows dancing on the ceiling doing nothing to distract him, he couldn’t hold back his thoughts any longer, and he had no choice but to face the fact that he had just said good bye to Dean Winchester. For good.

His breathing became ragged and he turned onto his side, curling into a tight ball and covering his face. He didn’t even bother to come up with an excuse to explain the burning in his eyes and the wetness seeping past his closed eyelids. It wasn’t like anybody was there to see him cry.

**

The first time Castiel had gotten down on his knees to blow Dean, he had been a shaking, terrifying mess. Traumatized by the forced sodomy, and nearly choking on the fear of not pleasing Dean enough to earn his protection, Castiel had known that he hadn’t been doing his best. Even though Dean had come, Castiel had cursed himself for acting like a nervous wreck and ruining his one good chance at having someone protect him from the other inmates. Castiel had been fully prepared to walk away without Dean’s consent to watch out for him.

Instead, Dean had pulled him up and said, “Next time, use your hands. We’ll work our way up to mouths.”

The following day, one of the men who had forced Castiel to blow him had ended up with a broken arm and a concussion. Dean hadn’t outright admitted to doing it, but the satisfied smirk on Dean’s face and the terrified look on the inmate’s face whenever they locked eyes had been enough of a confession.

It had taken over a month before Castiel had been comfortable enough to try to satisfy Dean with his mouth again. It had taken an additional three weeks before Castiel had offered his ass. Within three months, Dean was fucking him on a regular basis and Castiel had become the envy of dozens of inmates who lacked their own protectors. 

Castiel knew, then and now, that his arrangement with Dean had been an ideal one. He had been good to Castiel, taking care of his needs and always having his back. To everyone else, Castiel had been Dean’s bitch and Dean had hurt anyone who even dared mention Castiel’s name in a bad way. 

In private, though, Castiel had been more than just his bitch; he had been Dean’s lover. For every rough fuck in the shower, there had been gentle lovemaking in the middle of the night. Every time Dean publicly called Castiel his bitch, his slut, or his whore, he would whisper ‘angel’ in Castiel’s ear. Their arrangement had morphed into a relationship that Castiel hadn’t expected to find within prison walls. Walking away from Dean had been hard, but what had kept him going was the assumed notion that they would see each other again. It had made the pain bearable.

Reliving that pain now, Castiel didn’t have that same crutch. Back then, he had walked away with the certainty that it wasn’t the end of their relationship (even though he hadn’t known at the time that it _would_ be the end of their relationship). There was no comfort to be found this time. He and Dean were done, their friendship severed permanently, and Castiel was having a harder time than he thought he would letting go. 

Now more than ever, he thought about the past and what he had with Dean, and despite days having passed since he said goodbye to him, Castiel struggled to move on. He thought about Dean constantly and almost every little thing reminded him of the man. He would pick up the phone sometimes and reread texts he had exchanged with him, always with a part of him saying that he needed to delete them and Dean’s number. 

He never did.

He should, though. If there was one silver lining in all this, it was the chance to fix his marriage. The stalemate between him and Balthazar might finally end. With Dean out of the picture, there was no reason for them to continue on like two strangers living under the same roof. Balthazar might be willing to forgive him now that he didn’t have to worry about Dean being a threat to their marriage.

With this in mind, he finally approached Balthazar one morning. Glancing out the kitchen window, he saw how ugly the sky looked. Nothing but dark clouds. It looked like it was going to be a rainy day. Not too long before the snow hit. 

Balthazar stood in front of the stove in his slacks and shirt, already partially dressed for work while Castiel still had on his pajamas. He still had about an hour before he had to head to work, and it had always been a common thing to find Balthazar mostly dressed and cooking breakfast before Castiel was out of bed. Back during better times, Balthazar would cook for two and smile whenever Castiel stumbled in with bleary eyes and uncombed hair, still half-asleep. 

Lately, Balthazar had been cooking breakfast for just one. 

Case in point, Balthazar was currently making a single omelet that sizzled in a pan. It smelled good and Castiel’s stomach rumbled in envy, but Castiel ignored it as he determinedly walked up to Balthazar. He leaned against the counter next to the stove and cleared his throat. Balthazar glanced at him, surprised. Castiel absently noted the crooked nose Balthazar now sported due to his fight with Dean. It was the only evidence left on Balthazar’s entire body that he had got into a fight, but at least he no longer looked like a boxer that got his ass handed to him. 

Balthazar’s lips curved downward and Castiel ignored his frown in favor of starting a conversation. “Can we talk?”

Balthazar eyed him for a moment before returning to his omelet. “I don’t have time to talk right now. I have to leave in twenty minutes and I barely have time for a decent breakfast.” He flipped the omelet one last time before scooping it off the pan and onto a plate. He turned off the stove and took the hot pan to the sink. “We can talk later.”

“Which means we won’t talk at all.” Ignoring Balthazar’s silence, Castiel said, “We can’t go on like this forever, Balthazar. We need to talk.”

“About what?” Balthazar said impatiently. He yanked open a drawer and took out a fork. “What exactly is there for us to talk about?”

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at his bare feet. “Dean and I are no longer friends, Balthazar.”

Balthazar steadily walked to the nook area where a small table sat. “Good for you.” He placed the plate on the table and pulled out a chair. 

Castiel stared as Balthazar sat down and began to eat his omelet. He exuded calmness, but his hands trembled. He was far from calm, and maybe Castiel should have retreated and caught him at a better time, but was there ever going to be a better time? He wanted to fix this mess sooner rather than later.

He joined Balthazar at the table and pretended not to notice the glare Balthazar shot him. “Balthazar, I just told you that Dean and I are no longer friends and that’s all you have to say? ‘Good for you’?” 

Balthazar released an aggravated sound and placed his fork down. “What did you expect me to say, Castiel? Wonderful? Fantastic? Or did you want me to ask the long sordid details of how you and Dean broke up?”

Castiel ignored the dig. “You got what you wanted, Balthazar. Dean is gone, out of my life.”

Balthazar’s features twisted into rage, and Castiel leaned back in his chair, not expecting that kind of reaction to his news. “You think that makes everything okay? You think that just because he’s gone that it automatically fixes this? This isn’t something you can just fix, Castiel.”

“Then tell me what you want so we can get past this,” Castiel said, looking at Balthazar imploringly. He had thought Balthazar would cool down and open up to him again, but instead it seemed to have the opposite effect. Balthazar seemed even more angry than he had been when they actually had their big fight, and he wasn’t sure why. “I just want us to go back to the way things used to be.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Balthazar shoved his chair back and stood up, both hands planted on the table. He glared down at Castiel furiously. “You chose that man over your own husband, Castiel. Instead of taking into consideration what I felt and respecting my wishes, you outright tell me that you weren’t going to let him go and continued to see him anyway. No matter how you see it or play it, you chose _him._ How do you think that made me feel, knowing that you chose your lover?” 

“He wasn’t my lover, Balthazar. I wish you’d believe me when I say that he was just a friend.”

Balthazar scoffed. “He was never just a friend, Castiel. If he was, you wouldn’t have fought so hard to keep him in your life, you wouldn’t have lied to me in the first place about who he was, and you certainly wouldn’t have looked at him the way you did that night during dinner.”

Castiel shot him a bewildered look. “I didn’t look at him in any way.”

“Yes, you did.” Balthazar looked ready to punch something, his hands curling into fists. “You looked at him like—” Balthazar swallowed, nostrils flaring. “Like you used to look at me.” Before Castiel could react to that, Balthazar growled. “And this was happening right in front of me!” Balthazar looked up and sneered at Castiel. “So it doesn’t matter if Dean is gone. That’s not going to change what you did.”

Castiel’s shoulders slumped, realizing that the chasm between him and Balthazar was wider and deeper than he originally thought. “I’m sorry,” he said with as much regret and sincerity as he could infuse into the words. “I never meant to hurt you, and I wish that I dealt with things differently, but give me a chance to make it up to you. Please.” He stared at Balthazar desperately. “Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

Balthazar returned his gaze for a moment. “I need space.”

Castiel brows scrunched together. Bemused, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I need time to think.” Balthazar paused and shook his head. “No, what I really need is to get away from you for a while.”

“Are you suggesting we separate?” Castiel asked, and his heart just about stopped beating. Balthazar couldn’t possibly be asking that, but when Balthazar nodded Castiel shot up from the chair. It fell back and clattered on the floor. “Balthazar, you can’t—”

“There’s a business trip coming up in a few days. I need to go to London for about three weeks, maybe even longer to negotiate some things for a client who wants to go overseas.”

“In a few days,” Castiel repeated, and he suddenly felt cold even though it was warm inside the house. “This isn’t a sudden trip, is it?”

Balthazar jutted his chin. “They asked me last week.”

Castiel considered that and swallowed thickly. “Were you even going to tell me or you were just going to take off without a word?”

“Doesn’t matter. You know now.”

Castiel had to take a deep breath. “You can’t just run away from this.”

“I’m not running away from anything, Castiel.”

“Yes, you are.” Castiel ran a hand down his face. Balthazar seemed to have cooled down a bit, but he was still so distant that Castiel wasn’t sure he could reach him. He had to try, though. “I get it, okay? I fucked up. I lied and made decisions I probably shouldn’t have, but how can I fix my mistakes if you’re not here?”

Looking at him with disbelief, Balthazar snorted. “This isn’t about you, Castiel. This is about me needing some time away from you to rethink this marriage.” 

“What is there to think about?” Castiel burst out. “Balthazar, please, we can get over this. We don’t have to separate.”

“Yes, we do, because as much as I love you, I can barely stand to be around you anymore.”

That hurt, and Castiel bit his lip, feeling so small at how much pain he had caused Balthazar. “I’ll do anything you want, Balthazar, I swear. Just stay, please.”

“No, because I need to figure out what I want out of this marriage—if I even still _want_ this marriage—and clearly so do you.”

“I don’t need to figure out anything! I know what I want.”

“If you did, we wouldn’t be in this bloody mess,” Balthazar snapped at him, and Castiel flinched. 

Castiel saw the determination on Balthazar’s face, the stubbornness in his eyes. Balthazar didn’t look like he was going to change his mind, and Castiel slumped. “Don’t leave,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me all alone, please.”

Balthazar smiled coldly, unsympathetic. “And if that wasn’t the only reason why you wanted me to stay, I might have said yes.”

Another odd statement, but Castiel ignored it in favor of attempting one last plea to get him to stay. “Balthazar—”

“Enough, Castiel.” Balthazar sounded exhausted. “I need this, all right? After all the shit you’ve done, you’ll give me that much.”

Balthazar turned around and walked out of the kitchen. Castiel stayed rooted to his spot, unable to help but feel like he had just lost something that he would never get back.

**

Castiel rubbed at his eyes before blearily staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. He grimaced at his horrendous reflection. He had bags underneath his eyes, his skin was pasty, and his cheeks were somewhat hollow. He looked worse than he did the day before and he shook his head at himself, wondering why he thought sleeping in the bed he had shared Balthazar would somehow make him feel better. 

Castiel had been having so much trouble sleeping since Balthazar’s departure that he had the brilliant idea to sleep in their bedroom for the first time in weeks, thinking that maybe he wouldn’t feel so alone and lost if he slept there. Instead, the bed had felt too big, the room too quiet, and any sleep he did manage to have had been filled with nightmares of Balthazar and Dean or both stabbing him in the heart over and over and laughing at his pain. He woke up sweaty and short of breath, clutching at his chest after each nightmare.

He sighed despairingly, wondering how his life had come to this, separated from his husband and missing a man who certainly wasn’t his husband. 

If Castiel hadn’t known about Balthazar’s upcoming trip, he would have been more worried when he woke up a few days ago to find Balthazar gone with a good chunk of his clothes missing from the closet. He tried texting and calling multiple times, but other than a reassuring text that he had arrived safely and a few other texts that implied that he be left alone, all attempts at communication were ignored. 

Without Balthazar there, Dean was on his mind more now than ever. The itch to call Dean and talk to him about what he was going through was almost too hard to ignore, but Castiel couldn’t do it. It would be unfair and shitty of him to use Dean like that. Then again, maybe Dean would ignore his calls, too. It seemed nobody wanted to deal with him and that just made him feel so pathetic and unwanted.

He thought about calling up his co-workers or a few friends, but he didn’t want to deal with all their questions. Besides, he didn’t feel close enough to really talk to them about personal matters. The whole drama following his release when one too many people got close to him just to get useful information to sell to tabloid magazines had made him cautious to the point where he mostly kept to himself. That was why it had felt good talking to Dean, because Castiel had felt safe enough to say whatever he wanted without worrying about Dean gossiping it for money. He missed that freedom.

He missed _Dean_.

Castiel made a sound of disgust and turned on the faucet, splashing water on his face. He grabbed a dry washcloth and wiped his face as he stepped out of the bathroom. He looked down at the unmade bed and went to work fixing it, since he wasn’t planning on sleeping in it again anytime soon. The bed in the guest bedroom would have to do.

As he smoothed out the comforter and fluffed the pillows, he glanced out the window. He groaned when he saw white covering the ground outside. Sometime in the middle night, it had finally snowed. He had planned to do some grocery shopping since his cabinets and refrigerator were starting to look a little bare, but he wasn’t in any mood to deal with putting chains on his car’s tires or shoveling snow out of the driveway. 

There were probably a few cans of soup somewhere, and he was sure there was a couple of eggs and frozen pizza. He wouldn’t go hungry for the day, so shopping could wait until tomorrow. Maybe he could do it after work, though the idea of going to work in general had him grimacing. Unfortunately, he had already called in that morning claiming to be sick so he could use the day to rest up. He didn’t want to call sick again tomorrow and miss another day of work. 

He did hope to look a little more alive by then, at least. He didn’t want to walk into work looking like he was falling apart, because even though his whole life was in shambles he didn’t want the entire world to know it. 

Once he was done fixing the bed he grabbed his phone off the nightstand and unlocked it. He pulled up Balthazar’s number and contemplated sending another text asking how he was doing, but he was still stinging from the last response he got from Balthazar, a brief suggestion that he check his status on social media instead of bothering him. Castiel apparently wasn’t even worth a damn text and the blow had been as painful as he was sure Balthazar had intended it to be. 

He pressed a couple of keys on the screen until he was looking at a completely different number. Dean’s number. He badly wanted to talk to him, and there had been moments where he was convinced that sending one simple ‘hi’ wouldn’t hurt, but just before he pressed the send button, he would get bombarded with images of interrupting Dean while he was eating dinner with Lisa, or having sex with her, or playing daddy to Lisa’s son. The images made him cringe, chest filling up with a raw ugly emotion. His texts usually ended up in the draft folder. There were about twenty in the folder already.

Now that Dean finally had a chance to be happy, Castiel didn’t want to send him a message that could potentially drag him right back into a situation that would only hurt him. Castiel didn’t want to screw up Dean’s one good shot at happiness. Besides, he was already dealing with the pain of being ignored by Balthazar; what if Dean decided to ignore him, too? He didn’t think he’d be able to handle that.

He tossed the phone on the bed and decided to just put both men out of his head. He had a job to do, and that was to transfer all his things into the guest bedroom. It made more sense to have his stuff in the other bedroom rather than go back and forth between his room and Balthazar’s. Just labeling it that way made him wince. It emphasized just how broken his marriage was.

He padded to the closet and opened it, pulling out his clothes one by one and dropping them on the floor in a pile that he would carry. The process didn’t have to be neat, it just had to be done. He reached the shelf above the pole and pulled down the shoes boxes that held his beanies, scarves, and thick winter gloves. 

After bringing down three boxes, he reached up to bring down the last one. His fingers brushed what felt like a wooden box, and he frowned for a moment before he gasped in surprise. He quickly grabbed the box with both hands and brought it down.

The medium-sized mahogany box was covered in a thin layer of dust, evidence of how long it had remained up in the shelf. He blew the thin layer off and wiped the top until the wood gleamed. It was a gorgeous box, with small engraved designs of angels. He fingered the small lock that kept the box securely closed, preventing any intruding eyes from looking inside.

Castiel couldn’t say that he had forgotten about the box, because he hadn’t, but he supposed he had placed it so far into the back of his mind that he had hardly thought about it. Two years it had sat on that shelf, hidden behind other items and lessening the chances of Balthazar stumbling upon it and asking questions that Castiel didn’t want to answer. The contents inside had been too precious to risk Balthazar discovering them.

He fingered the lock again before turning around and walking to the nightstand. He opened the drawer and dug around until he found a small black pouch nestled in the back corner. He took it out and placed the box on the bed, opening the pouch and turning it over so all the items would fall out.

He looked over the items that now lay on the bed: a single two-dollar bill, a quarter that had a picture of his home state on the back, a locket his mother had owned, a silver ring Anna had given him, and a small key.

He grabbed the key and twirled it around in his hand for a bit, wondering if he really should open this particular can of worms. He clenched the key in his hand, and decided that yes, he really did want to open the can of worms, so he unlocked the box. His fingers shook as he slowly opened it and he had to take a breath when the first thing he saw was the name _Dean_ written in his own cursive handwriting. 

Castiel closed his eyes. Seeing the three piles of envelopes, each stack held neatly together by strings of yellow yarn, made his chest clench painfully. He almost regretted opening the box and being faced with physical evidence of his broken promises to Dean, but this was something he had shoved aside for two years, and it was time he stopped running away from his past mistakes. 

Opening his eyes, he took out the first pile of letters and ran his finger over Dean’s name. He remembered how eager and excited he was while writing the letters, anticipating the day he and Dean would be reunited. Letter after letter he wrote, biding his time until he could find just a few minutes to get away and mail them so Dean would know that Castiel was waiting for him. Balthazar and the call for a normal life away from anything related to incarceration had chipped away at his determination to wait for Dean, but he had kept writing. He poured his heart and soul into each word, not holding back. It was Balthazar’s marriage proposal that had really changed everything, though.

None of the envelopes were sealed, so Castiel untied a pile and took the one on top. He opened the flap and slid out the letter, unfolding it carefully. As soon as he read the first sentence nostalgia hit him hard, and it brought a shaky smile to his lips. It was the first letter he had written, and it captured all the excitement and fear he had harbored during the early days of his release.

_I miss you Dean . . . I ate apple pie freshly baked . . . there’s paparazzi camping outside my door . . . I finally bought a tablet! So much better than a computer . . . Balthazar keeps telling me to go to a therapist but I don’t want to . . . I wish you were here . . ._

He lowered the letter and stared ahead, though he didn’t really see anything. He was lost in his head, going back to when all he had thought about was Dean. He could remember how difficult it had been to wake up each morning without Dean there to hold him, or to go to sleep each night without hearing Dean’s heart soothing him to sleep. For two years his whole world had revolved around Dean, and he had struggled adjusting to life without him at his side. He had missed him so much, like a limb that had been severed. 

But not having Dean there had forced him to turn to Balthazar to anchor him in a world he had forgotten how to live in, and Balthazar had been very good at convincing him to let go of his past. Before Castiel knew it, two days before his wedding, he had written his final letter to Dean and had put it alongside his other unsent letters inside the mahogany box.

Coming back to the present with a shake of his head, he took out all the letters and began to read them one at a time. Phrases jumped out at him from every letter he read.

_Do you still think of me? I think of you all the time._

_I learned how to bake an apple pie for you._

_I had a dream last night about you. It was a good one._

_I’m going to therapy. I think it’s helping._

_I still miss you._

_I’m not having as many nightmares like I used to._

_I got a job working as a paralegal._

_Balthazar asked me to marry him. I said yes._

_This is my last letter to you._

_I need to let you go._

_Good bye._

Holding his final letter to Dean, Castiel eyes burned. He thought he would choke on the emotions that welled up inside of him. He tucked the letter into its envelope, wiping at his eyes and sighing shakily.

He wondered what would have happened if he had sent them, if anything would have changed. Would he still have married Balthazar, or would he have done as he had promised and ended his relationship in order to wait for Dean? If someone had asked him that five months ago, he would have said that yes, he would have definitely married Balthazar. 

Now, though, he wasn’t sure, and what kind of man did that make him? Breaking the heart of one man because he had fallen in love with another.

He blinked. “Oh,” he breathed. 

The realization wasn’t accompanied by fireworks. It didn’t make him freeze in shock or make him panic. It was a quiet ‘a-ha’ moment, a light bulb coming on as he finally saw what should have been obvious.

He was in love with Dean Winchester, and he didn’t know why it had taken him so long to figure it out.

Castiel had suspected that he loved Dean when they had been incarcerated, but he had eventually decided that the feelings he had had stemmed from dependency on the only man he really knew in the prison. He put his feelings down as something akin to hero worship. That was the only reason why he had been able to say yes to Balthazar’s proposal, because as deep and strong as the bond had been between him and Dean, what other kind of bond could exist between two men who shared a small cell for twenty-four months? 

The world for inmates was small and restricted. All they had were each other. Only another inmate could understand the desperate desire for freedom and relate to the unique struggles found within prison walls. Anyone who wasn’t an inmate was an outsider, and the only family they had was the one they shared close quarters with every day for years. 

Relationships were formed based on those traits, with men—even straight men—finding themselves attracted to a fellow inmate, maybe even believing themselves to be in love. It was easy to mistake co-dependency for love, and that was Castiel had figured, that their bond had been co-dependency and nothing else. 

But Castiel _was_ in love with Dean, and it explained so much. The difficulty of letting him go, his refusal to just abandon him and enduring Balthazar’s wrath, how he couldn’t get him out of his head, and how much it had hurt when Dean had ended their friendship. It was obvious.

Obvious to others, too, now that he thought about it, and he grimaced. Balthazar had said that he looked at Dean like he used to look at him, and that he needed to figure out what he wanted. Castiel hadn’t known what he meant, but now he did. 

And then there was Dean, who had asked him if he was tired of pretending. Castiel had denied pretending anything, because he hadn’t understood the question. Yet he recalled the way Dean would look at him sometimes, like he knew something Castiel didn’t, and the soft little smiles he would bestow upon him whenever Castiel touched him or said something that went a little beyond platonic. Maybe now he understood what Dean had meant.

He lifted his hand to touch his lips, closing his eyes and allowing himself to remember the taste of Dean’s mouth. Kissing Dean had never felt wrong, had never felt like a mistake. Each time Dean had kissed him, Castiel had kissed back because he just hadn’t been able to help himself. Maybe he should have realized it when it took him just a tad too long to push Dean away or when his chest would clench at the idea of Dean being with anyone else that he was in love with him.

Castiel wasn’t sure what was worse: the physical affair he had with Dean in prison, or the emotional affair he had with him these past few months. No, years. He fell in love with Dean in prison and never stopped.

What he felt for Dean and Balthazar weren’t the same—one made him feel adventurous and impulsive while the other was familiar and soothing—and now that he was aware of his feelings for Dean, he wasn’t sure what to do about them. They weren’t just going to go away like they didn’t exist; otherwise, he wouldn’t have had such a hard time turning Dean away after three years of not seeing each other. His mind might not have realized it, but his heart had still clung to the man, the bond between them too strong for Castiel to truly move on.

But what did it matter? Dean had left him, went off to be with Lisa and live happily ever after with her and her son. Something fierce and ugly clawed at his belly at the thought, and he took deep breaths. Jealousy. That was what he had been feeling every time Dean had told him about a one night stand or whenever he had watched Dean flirting with someone right in front of him or when he mentioned Lisa, and it was his own husband who called him out on it. The irony of it must have stung Balthazar.

It was all a moot point, though. He needed to save his marriage, and jumping on his feelings for Dean would have the opposite effect. When Balthazar came back, they could finally get to work on fixing their marital problems.

Unless Balthazar came back only to tell him that they were over, and then what? He didn’t know when Balthazar was coming back. Every moment spent waiting for Balthazar was a moment Lisa had to wiggle her way into Dean’s heart. What if Castiel fought tooth and nail for weeks or months and Balthazar left him anyway? Dean would truly be unreachable by then and Castiel would be left with no one. 

Hell, maybe it was a well-deserved punishment, living the rest of his days as a miserable, lonely bastard who only had a cat as a companion.

_“. . . I need to figure out what I want out of this marriage—if I even still want this marriage—and clearly so do you.”_

He groaned and grabbed a nearby pillow, falling back on the bed and placing the pillow over his face, screaming into it. Balthazar was right. He needed to figure out what he wanted before he did end up lonely and miserable. The problem was that he had no idea what he wanted. Or more accurately, _who_ he wanted. He loved Balthazar deeply and could see himself living the rest of his life at his side, but he couldn’t imagine living the rest of his life without Dean. 

Removing the pillow, he sat and decided to take a shower. It would help clear his head, push out all the white noise so he could actually think about something other than this complicated mess.

Except that the shower didn’t help clear his head. His thoughts kept going back and forth as he tried to choose who really wanted to be with, because if it was Dean, then this was the time to voice it and prevent Balthazar from suffering any more future heartache. If it was Balthazar, then he could completely throw himself into fixing his marriage so that he and Balthazar could be happy. 

The question of what he wanted haunted him throughout the day. He thought about it during lunch, while washing the dishes, cleaning the bathroom. Who did he want, Dean or Balthazar? Should he fight for his marriage or rekindle a relationship that may fizzle out? Take a chance on Dean taking him back or make an utter fool of himself, lose Balthazar, and die alone? Try to save his marriage, fail, lose Dean, and still die alone?

While loading the washer in the laundry room, he emptied out the pockets of all his dirty jeans, and when his hand pulled out a crumpled fortune, he absently looked at the words. 

_Not every boundary crossed will lead to destruction._

He froze. It was the same fortune he had read the night Dean ended their friendship. He dropped the jeans he held and read the fortune again. 

Castiel had paid little attention to the words the first time he read them. Just like Dean had said, there was probably thousands of the same fortune floating around in the city. Fortunes in general were mostly bullshit, so why bother putting any faith in them? 

He couldn’t help but feel, though, that this time the fortune had a little more merit, because there had been a boundary between him and Dean from the moment they had met. Castiel had a boyfriend outside waiting for him and Dean had been a convict with blood on his hands. Two completely different people with two differing futures, and yet Castiel had crossed that boundary. He had crossed it and had been _happy_. As much as he had wanted to get out of prison, if he had ended up spending the rest of his life in there it would have been bearable so long as he spent it lying in Dean’s arms. 

_“The only thing I wanted more than my freedom was you.”_

He exhaled shakily and fisted the fortune before bringing his clenched hand to his mouth and closing his eyes. 

_“I’m tired of pretending, Cas. Aren’t you?”_

He opened his eyes and lowered his hand. After staring ahead at nothing for several seconds, his thoughts finally settled down and allowed him to see clearly for the first time in what had to be weeks. 

He took another deep breath before walking out of the laundry room and walking straight for his office. He dropped the fortune on top of the desk and went through the drawers until he found a loose piece of paper. Sitting down on the chair, he grabbed a pen and twisted off the top.

The metallic tip hovered above the paper as he took a moment to think over his actions, to really see if this was what he wanted to do. There were no doubts in his head and, most importantly, his heart.

He pressed pen to paper and began to write. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!
> 
> I want to thank my beta pinkyapples again for beta-ing this fic for me, and I want to thank all of you for giving this story a chance. Seeing the comments and kudos made my day, and I'm hoping this chapter will make yours. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean had never told him where he lived, so Castiel’s only option was to head to the auto shop. He was nervous, the box of his letters held between shaky hands. His gloves hid the sweat forming on his palms, which was ironic considering how cold it was. He was bundled up from head to toe, booted feet trudging through snow as he made his way to the building. He was glad to see that it was open; otherwise, he would have arrived for nothing. At least it wasn’t currently snowing.

He pushed open the glass door that led into the lobby and glanced around. No one was at the desk and he moved around the small lobby, taking in the television bolted to the wall and the small kitchenette that had a vending machine, a microwave, a little refrigerator, and a coffee machine with a basket of cups, sugar, and creamers. There was freshly brewed coffee, and Castiel was tempted to get some while he figured out if he should wait to ask where Dean was or attempt to locate the man himself.

“Can I help you?”

Castiel spun around, and walking out of a door with a sign that said ‘employees only’ was a middle-aged man who was a bit heavy around the middle. He had a bearded chin, a plaid shirt, and a cap on his head. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion, and he didn’t look at all friendly.

Castiel cleared his throat. “I’m looking for Dean Winchester?”

“He ain’t here today.”

Castiel slumped. Turned out he came for no reason after all. He sighed and considered the box he held. “When is he coming back? Tomorrow?”

“He has the entire week off. He ain’t coming back until next Wednesday.”

Damn it. Castiel frowned. Why would Dean take a week off? Did he go somewhere? Maybe he finally took up on his brother’s offer to pay for a flight to California. Or maybe he went on a getaway with Lisa. The latter thought had him cringing, jealousy coming quick and hard, but he forced himself to relax. Even if Dean had gone somewhere with Lisa, that was his prerogative. He had every right to do what he wanted, especially when he wasn’t committed to anyone else. Of course, that line of reasoning didn’t stop Castiel from hoping that Dean had visited Sam instead.

“Where’s his office?” he asked. 

“Why?”

“I want to drop something off.” He lifted the box to give the man a better view of it. “It’s important that he gets it.”

“What is it?”

Castiel scowled slightly. “It’s private.”

The man looked him up and down. “Who are you?”

Castiel gathered the box to his chest, getting a little annoyed by the man’s prying. “I’m an old friend of his. Castiel Novak.”

Much to his surprise, the man’s eyes widened and his brows shot up. He looked stunned, and when he looked Castiel over once again, it was with curiosity rather than suspicion. “So you’re Cas.”

Castiel blinked. “You know who I am?”

“Sure do.” The man walked closer and held out a hand. “I’m Bobby Singer.”

Dean had described Bobby as being rough around the edges with a gruff attitude and a less-than-pleasant bedside manner. Now that Castiel was facing him, he could see that Dean hadn’t been exaggerating. He juggled the box onto one hand and gingerly reached out to shake Bobby’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” he greeted cautiously.

Bobby was looking at him intently. “Dean talked about you a lot. Just about talked my ear off, actually, and hardly a day went by that your name wasn’t mentioned.” He frowned. “Up until a while ago, that is. He went real quiet about you.”

Castiel didn’t have to wonder why Dean stopped talking about him, though he was awed by the idea that Dean had been talking about him at all to begin with. It made him flush with shyness. “What exactly did he say about me?” he asked hesitantly. He wasn’t sure how much Dean had said about him, but he wanted to know so he could have a better idea on how to handle Bobby.

“I know you’re his _friend_ from prison,” Bobby replied, and Castiel didn’t miss the emphasis on the word ‘friend’. “I’ve known about you since the day you arrived at the prison. Figured the boy had taken a shine to you.”

“So you know about me and him,” he asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question. 

Bobby chuckled, looking amused. “If you’re asking if I know that you and he were more than just cellmates, then yes, I do. No thanks to him, though. Boy never said that you and he were involved, but let me tell you, it wasn’t hard figuring it out with the way he spoke about you. Nearly every phone call I made to him and on nearly every visit, your name was brought up at least once, and I know that boy better than I know myself.” Bobby glanced down at the box Castiel still carried. “Guess you two had a fight or something?”

“Or something,” Castiel muttered. He sighed and looked at the box. He considered his options. He had fully been prepared to face Dean again, had been ready to look into his green eyes and see nothing but hardness. He hadn’t expected to not see Dean at all, and while a part of him wanted to personally give Dean the box, another part of him was afraid that if he left, he wouldn’t come back. 

He glanced up at Bobby. Since he knew about their situation, and Bobby was the only other person—besides Sam—Dean trusted, Castiel held out the box to him. “Can you give this to him when he comes back?”

Bobby frowned, glancing at the box again. “Why don’t you come back and give it to him yourself?”

“Because it took a lot for me to come here today. I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it again in a week, and I need him to have it.” 

“You don’t know me,” Bobby pointed out, scratching at his beard. Castiel could tell he was reluctant to take the box. He kept eyeing it warily, as though there was a bomb inside or something. “What makes you think I ain’t going to open it to see what’s inside?”

“Because I wasn’t the only one Dean talked about.” Castiel smiled at him gently. “He thinks highly of you, and says you’re trustworthy. If I give this to you, I know it’ll end up in his hands, and that’s what I want.”

Bobby seemed embarrassed, and apparently, when he was embarrassed, he became gruffer. He took the box a bit roughly, and he sniffed disdainfully. “I’ll make sure it gets to him,” he muttered. 

“Thank you,” Castiel said before turning around and heading towards the exit.

Before he reached it, Bobby called out, “Thanks.”

Castiel paused with a hand on the handle and looked over his shoulder at Bobby, bemused. “For what?”

“For taking care of my boy.”

Castiel cocked his head to the side. “I didn’t do anything,” he replied, puzzled. 

Bobby, however, shook his head, tucking the box underneath one arm. “Believe me, you did more than you think.”

This time Bobby was the one to walk away, leaving behind a very lost Castiel. 

**

Castiel was struck with a strong case of déjà vu, except that instead of sun, there was snow, and instead of a leather jacket, Dean stood on his doorstep bundled in a wool coat and a black beanie covering his head.

“Dean?” He told himself to stay calm. He wasn’t sure what Dean’s purpose was, so there was no reason to get excited or depressed. All he had to do was breathe. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greeted softly. 

Castiel glanced down and saw his box of letters in Dean’s gloved hands. His gut clenched nervously at the sight. 

Dean was glancing over Castiel’s shoulder, peering inside. “Is Balthazar here?”

“No.” Castiel toed the floor. “He’s in London. He’ll be there for a couple of weeks.”

“I see.” Dean cleared his throat. “Mind if I come in?”

Realizing that Dean was shivering slightly, Castiel quickly widened the door and stepped out of the way. “Of course, come right in.” Once Dean was inside, Castiel closed the door behind him. “The fireplace is being put to good use right now in the living room,” he offered.

Dean was quick to take him up on it, darting into the living room and making a beeline for the fireplace. He made a brief pit stop at the coffee table to deposit the box on top. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out there,” Dean commented, removing his gloves and tucking them under his armpit so he could push his bare hands as close to the fire as safely possible. 

“Do you want something warm to drink?” Castiel asked, settling back on the couch and dragging his blanket over his lap. He closed the book he had been reading and set it aside, watching Dean carefully. “I can make coffee or something.”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll be okay.” Dean removed his beanie and gathered his gloves, holding them in his hands. He glanced at Castiel. “So is Balthazar on a business trip?”

“Yes.” Castiel tugged on a loose strand on his blanket. He bit his lip briefly. “We’ve separated.”

Dean stared. “You broke up?”

“No.” Castiel hunched his shoulders. “We haven’t ended our marriage or anything, but Balthazar said he needed to get away from me for a while. I asked him if he was asking for a separation, and he didn’t deny it, so he went to London.” He picked at his nails. “His business trips usually take a few days, but it so happens that this time it’ll take almost a month.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Definitely not a coincidence.”

“I see.” Dean walked to the coffee table and tossed his beanie and gloves on it. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s what Balthazar needs.” Castiel jiggled his leg. “It’s what I need, too.”

Dean was silent for a moment before reaching down to tap the box that sat on the coffee table. “I almost didn’t read these,” he admitted, breaking the silence. “When Bobby gave the box to me, I didn’t even open it. I put it away, spent two days trying to figure out what I wanted to do. When I did open it and realized what they were, I couldn’t decide if I should read them or toss them in the dumpster instead.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did throw them out,” Castiel said in a small voice. He clasped his hands over his lap and looked up at Dean. “Did you read them, or did you just decide to give them back to me?

“I read them.” Dean looked down at the box for several seconds before lifting his head sharply and pinning Castiel with a hard look. “Why didn’t you mail any of these to me, Cas?” he demanded, and Dean looked so painfully confused that Castiel ached to go to him and wipe that look off his face, to make him feel better, but he knew that wasn't the right course of action. 

“I wanted to,” he answered honestly. Dean deserved that much. “I almost did.”

“What happened?”

How to answer that question? He wasn't sure where to start, so he answered the best he could. “At first it was because I just couldn’t find the time to get away.” Castiel stared down at his lap miserably. “Everyone was watching me. There were reporters outside my front door, lawyers who wanted to know how much I was going to sue the police department for, and strangers gawking at me. Balthazar was hovering like a parent, never letting me out of his sight for days afterwards. Finding five minutes to write a letter was easy if I hid in the bathroom, but leaving the house alone was difficult. Every time I stepped out the door, Balthazar would be right at my side or a pesky reporter would shove his microphone right in my face. The attention and the babying didn’t die down for weeks, so I just kept writing letters and figured I'd send them all at once once I was left alone.”

“At first,” Dean said, causing Castiel to look up. “You said ‘at first.’ What else happened?”

Castiel lowered his gaze again, eyes landing on the box. He hoped Dean had read them in order like he had asked him to on the sticky note inside. “You weren’t here.”

Dean waited, but when Castiel said nothing else Dean gave him a look of exasperation. “That’s it? That doesn’t answer anything.”

“It answers everything. You know how it’s like to be out here after being incarcerated. How different the world is. I was alone, and you weren’t here.”

Dean still looked utterly confused. “What does that have to do with you not sending me these letters?”

Castiel made a sound of frustration. “I know I’m not explaining it well, but it’s complicated, okay?” He tried to figure out what to say to clarify what he had been going through back then. “I relied on you so much for two years, Dean. Two years where you barely left my side and I barely left yours. You were all I knew, and when I was exonerated and I left this prison, the one person I depended on wasn't here. You weren't here to help me adjust, and I struggled, Dean. I struggled so much, trying to get used to being free again. Writing to you and believing I'd see you again helped me in so many ways, kept me tied to you, but it wasn't enough." He looked up again, catching Dean's eye. He could tell the other man still didn't get, and Castiel wished he could explain it better. He was doing his best. "I know there wasn’t anything you could do about it and it’s not your fault that I was out here alone, but I was a little lost and afraid and you weren’t physically here to help me through it." He paused and swallowed. "Someone else was, though.”

“Balthazar,” Dean said softly.

Castiel nodded, momentarily going back to that time. “I was a mess, Dean. I was stuck in this mentality where I still expected decisions to be made for me, and I was having a hard time making my own decisions. But Balthazar was there, and he did what you couldn't. He helped me realize that I didn't need others to make decisions for me anymore. He reminded me how beautiful and wonderful it is out here, and that I could be normal again." He was reminded of all Balthazar had done for him, and it nearly made him sick to think how blind and selfish he had been to never acknowledge that. That was then, though. There was nothing he could do about it now. He focused on giving Dean the answers he wanted instead. "The more time passed, the more sense he made and the better I got. I was getting my normal life back. 

“Without me in it.”

Castiel briefly closed his eyes at the pain in Dean’s voice. “I never stopped writing even while Balthazar was helping me because I kept telling myself that I was just using him to help me get myself together again. That way when you came out you'd have someone who wasn't a basket case waiting for you. I swore that I would send the letters once I had the time or maybe even go and visit you so I can hand them to you myself. I kept saying I would, but then . . ." He trailed off and bit his lip. 

" Go on," Dean prompted, sounding a little off. "Don't stop now."

"Dean," Castiel said quietly, "you were so determined to get out on parole. I saw how hard you studied those law books to better your chances, but neither of us knew if you'd get a parole hearing, and if you did, how were we supposed to know if it would even get approved?"

"It's called having faith," Dean said bluntly. "You taught me that. You made me hope."

Castiel rubbed the back of his neck. God, he had screwed up in so many ways and hurt two of the most important people in his life in the process. His stomach was in knots and his chest hurt. He didn't want to continue, feeling worse about his actions and himself with every word that escaped him. He forced himself to continue, though. "We made promises to each other, but what good were they if there was a possibility that you'd never get out?" He dropped his hand, slumping. "Balthazar kept telling me that this was my new start, that the prison and all I went through was behind me, and that I didn't have to hang onto the past. I could move on with my life. He got into my head and he was making so much sense." He licked his lips, feeling how dry they were. "Then one day he asked me to marry him, and there he was, offering me a chance at a new life with him. " He stopped again when Dean closed his eyes and looked away. When Dean continued to keep his head turned to the side, Castiel said, "When Balthazar proposed, that's when it hit me that I had to decide to either continue waiting for a man who might live the rest of his life in prison while I live the rest of my life out here alone, or be with someone who I didn't have to wait for, who was already here."

“Obviously you decided I wasn’t worth waiting for,” Dean muttered bitterly.

“No,” Castiel said firmly, tossing aside the blanket and dropping it on the floor. He stood up. “Don't say that. I did wait for you, Dean. I waited for an entire year. Why else did I keep writing?”

“But you never intended to send any of them. You just kept them locked away in a box while I rotted in prison and waited for just one letter. Just one.”

“That wasn’t my initial plan! I swear I was going to mail them, but Balthazar’s words got stuck in my head. I started getting confused, and when weeks turned into months without me mailing anything, I started to worry if sending them was even a good idea when I was so conflicted about everything. You and Balthazar, hanging onto the prison or moving on. All of that was in my head, and the therapist confused me even more." His fingers itched to touch Dean, but he held back. He wasn't sure if Dean would accept his touch at the moment and he didn't want to do anything that would cause Dean to leave before he could finish his explanation. "I was getting better, Dean, I was adjusting, but even I saw the pattern of my rehabilitation. I was adjusting because I was letting go of my past.” Castiel sighed heavily. "I was letting go of you.

Dean chuckled darkly and shook his head. “You know, that was one of the things I was so scared of. Do you know why so many relationships that happen in prison don’t work out once one of them gets out? Because the one that’s left behind in prison gets forgotten. No letters. No calls. Nothing. I worried that you’d do that, but then I remembered how you swore you’d leave Balthazar because I’m the one you wanted. So I waited day in and day out for something, anything, that proved you didn’t forget me.” He glanced at the box again. “And now I don’t even know if this is proof that you didn’t forget me, or just some way for you to absolve your guilt so you can believe that you intended to keep your promises when in reality you never meant to at all.”

“That’s not true, Dean," Castiel denied fervently. He couldn't have Dean thinking that. "You were all I thought about when I got out. You were all I wanted. But you have to understand that if it wasn’t for Balthazar, I would’ve fallen apart. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t leave him. Without him, I would’ve been totally alone to deal with a world I was no longer used to, and I was afraid to face that. Writing to you or calling you isn’t the same as you holding me.” Castiel hugged himself, as if trying to mimic Dean’s embrace. “I wanted you to hold me so much,” he whispered.

He inhaled and glanced at his letters again. “But I'm not going to lie. When I decided to choose Balthazar, I knew at that point that I wasn't going to send the letters. They wouldn't have done anything except hurt you or confuse me all over again if you did write back. I thought choosing Balthazar was the right thing for me to do, so I figured that it was better if we had a clean break.” He glanced at Dean, who was looking at him strangely. He didn't look so angry or bitter like he had earlier. Castiel wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. “But even though I wasn't going to send them, I couldn't bear the idea of throwing them away. Those were my feelings written down and I couldn’t toss them aside like they meant nothing. Like _you_ meant nothing, because you didn’t. You were never just nothing.”

Dean watched him for a moment before bending down and opening the box. “I could accept that,” he said lowly. “I could even understand it, you know? I mean, you’re right. Who knew when my parole was going to be granted? It took three years, but what if it took ten or fifteen years? Or what if it didn’t happen at all? And I get how you might've been confused with Balthazar out here to help you and me being locked up. So, yeah, I can see it. I get it. ” He grabbed one of the letters and took it out of the envelope. “What I don’t get,” he said, lifting the letter, “is what this means. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

Castiel knew exactly which letter he was holding. The paper was different from the others. The letter Dean held was the one Castiel had written just last week. It didn’t have a date and it only contained three simple words: _I’m done pretending._

“Isn’t it obvious?” he whispered, and dared to circle the coffee table to approach Dean. Castiel had to choose his words wisely, because this was the moment that could change everything for the better or for the worse. 

“Not to me it isn’t, Cas. All I got are assumptions and guesses, and if I’m wrong about any of them, I need to know before I do something stupid.” His fingers tightened around the paper in his hand, the material crinkling underneath the pressure he was exerting. “Tell me, Cas. I need you to tell me what it means.”

“I never meant to hurt you, Dean,” Castiel said, standing in front of Dean. “I swear I never realized how much pain I was causing you by being so ignorant of what you were trying to tell me, but it wasn’t just your feelings I was blind to. I didn’t realize what _I_ was feeling. Every time you flirted with someone or you told me about a one-night stand, I hated it. I thought that I just didn’t like how you were throwing yourself around because you didn’t think you deserve better.”

“That’s why you pushed me to go after Lisa.”

Castiel nodded, but made a face. “Except that I wasn’t all that happy about that either, and it wasn’t until I found these letters that I realized that all this time, I was jealous.” Dean’s lack of surprise was expected. Of course Dean had seen it. “And you noticed it before I did. Balthazar even noticed it before I did.” He laughed at the irony. “And then those times when you would smile at me or touch me, I felt so _alive_ , like an electric wire touched me and lighted me up from the inside out. You made me feel like I could do anything and go anywhere. You made me feel safe and happy, and all I wanted was to make you feel safe and happy in return."

“Yeah?” Dean said roughly.

“Yeah,” Castiel echoed. He could see the effect his words were having on him. His green eyes were softening, and that had Castiel’s chest swelling with hope. “Balthazar told me to let go of the past and I thought I did, but something inside of me hadn't been able to let you go. What we had is too strong to leave in the past. That’s why I wrote that letter, because I’m tired of pretending like I’m not in love with you.”

There. He said it, and he braced himself for Dean’s reaction. It was a risk to confess his feelings when Dean might not accept them after everything he had put him through, but he couldn’t let fear hold him back and risk losing the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Dean inhaled sharply and let the letter fall. It fluttered to the floor. Dean stared at him for several seconds, not saying anything. Castiel got a little nervous, and he began talking. "I thought what we had was just co-dependency , you know? That the bond we had was just two inmates using each other to get through the days. That's what pushed me to be with Balthazar. The idea of loving you seemed ludicrous at the time." Dean blinked at him, and Castiel got a little frantic as words continued to spill out. "But now I know that it was love. I love you. I've loved you all this time. I just didn't see it because I was married and I was settled, but that's pretty much what I did, right? I settled, because I was scared of being alone without you here and Balthazar was here, and it was easier to marry him if I believed that I didn't love you. So that's what I did. I came up with an explanation for what I felt about you so I wouldn't feel guilty about being with someone who wasn't you, because I love you and it didn't feel right the way it's supposed to when you marry someone, and even though I love Balthazar it isn't as strong as what I feel for you, otherwise I wouldn't be here telling you that I love you and sounding idiotic and repeating myself because you're just staring at me, which is making me really nervous." Castiel ran out of steam, that's the only reason why he stopped, and he bit his tongue before he continued rambling. Dean just continued to just look at him blankly. Castiel had no idea what was going on in his head, and that worried him. "Please say something," he pleaded.

Dean blinked again. “I’m with Lisa," he finally responded.

All of Castiel’s hopes crumbled into pieces, a sharp agonizing pain hitting him straight in the chest and right through his heart. He was too late. He took too long to figure it out. “Of course you are,” he said, looking away and flushing with humiliation. He took a step back, realizing that this was no less than what he deserved. Hadn’t he told Dean something similar? That he was with Balthazar? Castiel had rejected Dean, and now Dean was rejecting him. It hurt in a way he didn't think was possible, knowing that he lost his chance and that his risk to choose Dean over Balthazar hadn't paid off. This was his punishment for all his past sins when it came to Dean and Balthazar. Karma truly was a mean bitch.

“Well,” he huffed, awkward and unsure of what to do. He didn't dare look at Dean, not wanting him to see his eyes becoming wet. He refused to cry in front of him. He would take this like a fucking man. “That’s good that you’re with her, because if anyone deserves to be happy it’s y—”

He was abruptly spun around and Dean’s lips were suddenly pressing against his. Castiel started, gasping in surprise, but he was quick to respond, wrapping his arms around Dean and tilting his head, kissing Dean deeply and pouring everything he felt into it just so Dean could feel the deep well of emotion residing inside of him. He wasn't sure what was happening, but he wasn't going to stop and think about it.

Dean pulled away slightly, but he didn’t stray far. Their noses still touched. “What about Balthazar?”

Castiel didn’t let go, even when guilt tried to tug at his conscience. It wasn’t enough to encourage him to push Dean away, and he willfully ignored it. 

“Balthazar isn’t here.” He bit his lip. “What about Lisa?”

Dean rubbed their noses together. “Lisa isn’t here.”

That was good enough for him. He drew Dean’s mouth back to his and they exchanged long, filthy kisses before Dean pulled back. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked, almost sounding desperate. “Because if you are, I’m going to fuck you like I’ve been dying to these past few years.”

“Yes,” Castiel breathed. The slow burning that had his cock twitching became full blown arousal, and he kissed Dean again. “Yes,” he repeated against his mouth, and that was all Dean needed to hear.

Dean immediately seized control, thrusting his tongue inside Castiel’s mouth. Castiel moaned and let Dean take as much as he wanted, finally free to do as they both pleased without Castiel’s marriage or sense of morality hanging over their heads like a dark cloud. Castiel relished the fierce passion behind Dean’s kisses and returned them eagerly. They only separated a second or two to change angles or take a breath, but they always returned to each other’s mouths. Castiel’s hands roamed all over Dean’s body, helping him out of his coat and faintly hearing it fall to the floor. Dean’s hands went to his waist and glided behind and downwards, palms grasping his ass and pulling him forward until their pelvises pressed together, and Castiel groaned as the bulge in Dean’s jeans brushed against his own erection, where it remained trapped within his briefs and sweats. 

Castiel moved a hand between them until he could press a hand against Dean’s clothed crotch, and Dean grunted. Dean quickly took a hand and joined it with Castiel’s, urging him to press harder against Dean’s dick.

Dean abruptly jerked away and Castiel blinked rapidly, breathing harshly. “Dean?” he questioned hoarsely when Dean interlaced their fingers and brought their linked hands away from his crotch. It wasn’t until Dean brought them at eye level did Castiel realize what had caught Dean’s attention, and he called himself an idiot, the golden band around his ring finger mocking him. It glinted in the firelight. 

“Sorry,” he said, irritated that he hadn’t taken it off earlier. He tugged at his hand, intending to remove it. It had no place being on his finger while he was with Dean. “I’ll take it off.”

Dean didn’t let go of his hand. Instead, he turned it over and quietly slipped the ring off Castiel’s finger. After making eye contact with him, Dean dropped it on the floor. Castiel followed it as it fell and bounced off the rug. It spun and rolled its way under the couch where it disappeared out of sight.

With the ring gone, Dean immediately placed his hands on Castiel’s ass, only this time instead of pulling him close, he lifted him _up._ Castiel gasped and grabbed Dean’s shoulders, instinctively wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist.

Dean smirked and nipped Castiel’s chin. He hitched him a little higher. “Hang on tight.” 

Dean carried him around the coffee table and sat down on the couch, jostling Castiel enough so he could unwind his legs and straddle Dean’s lap instead. Their new position gave him a few inches over Dean, and he blinked down at him.

“You carried me,” he pointed out stupidly, having forgotten exactly how strong Dean was. He recalled seeing him lifting weights and doing pull-ups in the prison yard, but Castiel wasn’t a skinny man. He had muscle and weighed around the same as Dean, yet he had been carried with very little effort. It was so fucking hot.

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Sherlock,” Dean murmured, grabbing the bottom of Castiel’s shirt and tugging it up. “Lift your arms up, angel.”

Castiel raised his arms up, allowing Dean to remove his shirt and leaving his upper body bare. He shivered and dropped his head back with a soft groan when Dean’s calloused thumbs rubbed his nipples to hard peaks. 

“Tits still sensitive,” Dean murmured. He licked the skin between Castiel’s pectorals. 

“Not _tits_.” Castiel scowled. “Not a woman, Dean.” He took the opportunity to relieve Dean of his shirt. It was only fair that he got to see some skin as well. “I don’t have breasts.” 

Spreading Dean’s shirt, he paused and greedily took in Dean’s inked chest. If he ignored the depictions of two naked women straddling a motorcycle, everything else was beautiful. It wasn’t just the pentagram. There were also tribal tattoos that covered his collarbone area and a bird carrying a torch in its clawed feet was soaring over Dean’s ribcage on the right. He noticed a few new tattoos as well alongside tattoos Castiel remembered touching and kissing.

What really stuck out, though, was a new addition to the bodily portrait. Right below the pentagram tattoo were two blue eyes and a golden halo. It was the only tattoo on Dean’s front upper body that had color, and Castiel touched it, looking up at Dean curiously.

Dean smiled softly. “Angel,” he murmured.

Castiel looked back down at the tattoo, eyes wide when he realized the blue eyes were his own. “When did you get this?”

“A week after seeing you again. I never forgot your blue eyes, but I did forget just how blue they are. I didn’t want that happening ever again.”

“You already had my name on your arm.” It was almost overwhelming to see more ink proving Dean's willingness to permanently mark himself with something associated with Castiel. Even before Castiel had even realized that he would have to choose between two men, Dean had already chosen him. 

“I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t have another part of you right over my heart.”

That was the most romantic thing he had ever heard, and seeing the evidence of Dean’s devotion to him somehow aroused him even more. He leaned down to lick at Dean’s chest. More specifically, at the new tattoo. And if he so happened to lick at Dean’s nipple in the process, well, going by the moan Dean released, it wasn’t an issue.

Dean pushed him slightly back only to grab Castiel’s nipple between his teeth and bite down hard enough to make it pleasurably painful. It went right to his dick. He groaned.

Dean released it and nuzzled his skin. “I always liked this tattoo,” he whispered, hand going to Castiel’s side where the dragon tattoo was.

“It’s a stupid tattoo,” Castiel muttered.

“It’s not. It’s a bit of the rebel in you.”

“I got it while I was drunk.”

“Yeah, because you were drinking underage.” Dean looked up at him with a lascivious grin. “Rebel.”

Castiel pushed him away and sucked Dean’s nipple in his mouth hard. Dean flinched, but he placed a hand on top of Castel’s head, pressing him closer against his chest. Castiel understood the silent order and continued to lap and suckle his nipple while bringing up his other hand to play with the other one. 

“You haven’t forgotten,” Dean breathed, smiling down at him.

Castiel released his nipple and grinned. “Forgotten what? How sensitive your nipples are?” 

He pinched both peaks, and even as Dean jumped, he laughed freely. “Like yours aren’t.” To prove his words, Dean grabbed a nipple between his fingers and squeezed. Castiel shuddered at the slightly painful tingle it brought. In retaliation, Castiel moved down and bit down on Dean’s left nipple, soothing it with a few licks of his tongue when Dean hissed. Castiel felt Dean’s hand on his head again, but Castiel sat up and smiled down at him smugly. 

“Tease,” Dean accused fondly. He surged upwards and latched onto Castiel’s neck, licking at a patch of skin near the hollow of his throat. He cupped Castiel’s bottom and urged him to move his hips. Following Dean’s wordless instruction, he ground his ass lightly on Dean’s lap, giving Dean’s hard cock friction. 

“You used to tease me all the time.” Castiel tilted his head sideways to give Dean more access to his throat. He could feel Dean sucking at his skin, and Castiel knew that was the first of many hickeys he was going to receive. Dean loved marking him up, providing physical proof to anyone who saw him that he belonged to someone. That he belonged to _him_. “I learned from the master.

Dean grinned proudly. “You sure did, baby.” He leaned forward to lick at Castiel’s bare shoulder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you. No one compared to you.”

The reminder that Dean had been with other people had the ugly green monster coming out. It stuck its claws into him. “I hate that you fucked others,” he muttered. “How long after I left did you wait before you were you fucking into someone else’s ass?” He knew Dean had been intimate with people since he came out, but Castiel doubted he had been celibate for the couple of years prior to his parole approval. 

Dean arched a brow, smirk tugging at his lips. “There’s always a bitch or two willing to take it up the ass for protection, Cas. You more than anyone know how it is in prison and how big of a reputation I had.” He ran his hands up Castiel’s back. 

Logic didn’t do anything to alleviate the jealousy, and the idea of Dean screwing around with anyone had him fuming. It was as if now that he recognized his jealousy for what it was, it came out as an explosion after being repressed and ignored for three months. It didn’t want to be hidden and stamped down, and that was what made Castiel dig his fingers into the meat of Dean’s shoulders, nails pressing indentions into his skin.

Dean winced, but the smirk remained on his face. “I would ask if you’re jealous, but I think we both know that you have a jealous streak a mile wide.”

Castiel didn’t respond to the taunt, though he wanted to say that Dean was his and that no one was allowed to be with him. It took considerable willpower to refrain. Instead, he dug his fingers deeper, his own tiny way of punishing Dean for sleeping with others.

Dean didn’t seem to care, not if the way his smirk bloomed into a cocky grin was anything to go by. He grabbed the back of Castiel’s nape and hauled him down for another long, messy kiss. It was more teeth and tongue than lips. “Careful,” he murmured, “I might think you want it rough.”

Castiel circled his hips and rubbed his ass against Dean’s bulge, satisfied when Dean pumped his hips upwards. He didn’t know what possessed him to say it, but the next words that came out of his mouth were, “Maybe I do.”

Dean chuckled and buried his face in Castiel’s neck. “Do you, now.” He nipped at Castiel’s shoulder. “Guess hubby hasn’t been giving you what you need.”

The teasing words were too soon for Castiel’s taste. Being reminded of Balthazar made it easy for the guilt to overwhelm his passion and lust for Dean. He wanted Dean so bad that to put what they were doing to a stop was not even an option, but if his guilt was too strong to ignore, Castiel wasn’t really going to enjoy having sex with Dean when all he could think about was the line he was crossing. It would turn something he had been craving for the past few months into a horrible experience. 

“Hey,” Dean whispered, looking up at him. He rubbed his thumb across Castiel’s frown and cupped his chin, bringing him down for a gentle kiss that was quickly followed by a few more. Castiel sighed happily at Dean’s sweet touches and kisses, guilt drifting away. 

A hand slid beneath the elastic waist of his pajama bottoms, and Castiel gasped when Dean’s thick fingers curved around his swollen flesh through the silk fabric of his briefs. “Dean,” he moaned softly, burying his face in Dean’s hair. He smelled generic shampoo and he could feel how Dean’s emerging sweat was starting to moisten the strands. 

He rocked into Dean’s touch, and protested when it withdrew from his cock. “Don’t worry,” Dean crooned as he lowered Castiel’s bottoms and underwear until his cock and balls were free from their constraints. Castiel arched as Dean took a hold of his naked hard flesh.

“Feels good?” Dean muttered, beginning to stroke Castiel’s erection. 

“Yes,” Castiel groaned, unable to believe that this was actually happening. He used to have wet dreams about Dean during the early days of his release. His body had always seemed to be craving for the callousness of Dean’s hands and the focus he would put on wringing out every single bit of pleasure he could out of Castiel. 

He allowed himself a few minutes to enjoy what Dean was doing to him before he attacked Dean’s jeans. He unbuckled and unzipped until he could whip out Dean’s dick, and when he got a good look at it he sighed with anticipation and awe. He had forgotten how big Dean was. His cock wasn’t monster-sized, but it was thick and long. It was an impressive sight, and he licked his lips as he wrapped a hand around it. 

“That’s it, angel,” Dean said breathlessly, eyes fluttering and mouth dropping open. 

Castiel stroked him, his own breathing irregular due to Dean’s continued strokes. His eyes kept flicking from Dean’s flushed face to the flushed, purple head of his dick. When it released a drop of pre-come, Castiel’s mouth watered. “I don’t remember how you felt in my mouth,” he whispered, a little sad at the thought. “I don’t even remember how you taste. If you’re bitter or sweet or both.”

Dean’s hands tightened on his hips, stilling his movements. “We can remedy that,” he suggested huskily.

Castiel smiled and nodded. He really wanted to take that cock in his mouth, and since there was nothing stopping him from doing it he slid off Dean’s lap and settled on his knees on the floor. He spread Dean’s legs and shuffled closer until he was face-to-face with Dean’s erection. He licked his lips, taking in the beautiful, pulsing flesh that he hadn’t seen in so long. He reached for it and leaned close, fully intent on licking the head. Dean’s hand suddenly landed in his hair and clenched. Castiel winced at the flare of pain on his scalp when Dean tugged him a _way_ from his cock. He scowled at Dean.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. He was inches away from taking what he wanted and he didn’t appreciate being denied.

“Condoms?” Dean asked. 

Surprised, Castiel blinked. “You want to wear a condom?” 

They had never worn condoms. Rubbers weren’t exactly a staple commodity found in prisons, since the lack of availability was supposed to discourage any kind of sexual activity—all it really did was raise the numbers of inmates who contracted STDs—so he was a little thrown that Dean was asking to wear one now. It would also defeat the purpose of Castiel tasting Dean’s dick. He wanted to fully enjoy the experience without getting the taste of latex in his mouth.

“We have a choice now,” Dean reminded him gently, hand softening in his hair and soothing Castiel’s scalp where the pull of hair had stung. 

His confusion vanished at Dean’s words, understanding now the reasoning behind Dean’s suggestion. It would be the logical and safest thing to do. Years ago, it had been a risk for either of them to exchange any kind of bodily fluids. Dean had fucked several inmates before Castiel’s proposed arrangement, and Castiel had been subjected to forced sodomy. In all honesty, both of them could have contracted a disease at any given time, and although their sexual need and desperation had been too much for them to care about not having protection, Castiel still considered it a miracle that he had walked away without getting an STD.

That wasn’t the only thing Dean was considering, though, Castiel was sure of it. Castiel was a married man, and since he wasn’t a woman trying to avoid an unwanted pregnancy he hadn’t used condoms in years. Then there was the fact that Dean had been sleeping around before and after his parole had been granted, Lisa included. It only seemed prudent that they use a condom now that they had the choice and freedom to be safe when they hadn’t been given the chance to be before.

The thing was that Castiel didn’t want any kind of barrier between them. It would take away from the experience, and he desperately wanted that closeness with Dean, to feel his bare cock in his mouth, in his ass. He just wanted to feel _Dean_.

“Are you clean?” he asked softly, because he wasn’t completely stupid to jump in blindly, but if there was a chance that they could avoid protection, then he was damn well taking it.

Dean must have read something in his expression that communicated that, because he smiled. “Clean as a whistle, babe. You?”

Castiel nodded. “No condoms,” he stated.

“No condoms, then,” Dean agreed.

Castiel stood up. “Wait here,” he ordered, and before Dean could ask any questions, Castiel quickly ran out of the living room and up the stairs (losing his pajama pants and underwear in the process).

He reached his bedroom and made his way to the nightstand, yanking the drawer open and digging through plenty of items before locating the tube of lube. Holding it firmly in hand, he left the room and returned to the living room where Dean was impatiently waiting, if his leg shaking up and down was anything to go by. It stopped jiggling, though, when Dean eyed his bare body up and down appreciatively, and Castiel shivered at the heat in his green eyes.

“Had to get something,” he explained, showing Dean the lube.

Beaming, Dean hauled Castiel down for a messy kiss when he was in reach. “Always thinking ahead,” Dean growled. “That’s my angel.”

Castiel smiled and dropped the lube on the couch before getting on his knees again. “Now can I suck your dick?” he asked boldly.

Dean leaned back, locking twinkling green eyes with him. “Suck away, angel.”

Permission granted, Castiel leaned forward and licked the tip, moaning softly when he gathered a drop of pre-come. The taste was on the bitter side, but there was still a hint of sweetness that had Castiel begging for more of it. He looked up at Dean and while keeping eye contact, he took Dean’s cockhead into his mouth and gave it one good hard suck.

“Jesus,” Dean hissed, hands digging into the seat cushions. 

Castiel released him and innocently asked, “Did that feel good?” He batted his eyes playfully.

Dean buried his hands in Castiel’s hair, urging his head down. “I don’t need to answer that and you know it,” he muttered.

Chuckling, Castiel opened his mouth wide to accept Dean’s cock. He wrapped a hand around the base as he steadily took in more flesh, stopping when his lips reached the skin of his own hand. He smoothly moved upwards, making sure his teeth scraped lightly as he moved up the shaft. Dean jerked and his fingers tightened in Castiel’s hair, gasping out a curse. Castiel repeated his actions several times, bobbing his head up and down in a steady rhythm and occasionally letting his teeth scrape the delicate skin, getting a kick out of Dean’s reaction every time he did it. 

God, he loved sucking Dean’s dick. He wanted to weep in joy at having it again and Dean was so deliciously _hard._ Castiel closed his eyes to better appreciate the taste and feel of it.

He brought up a hand to play with Dean’s balls, tickling the heavy sac and rolling the orbs in between his fingers. Dean was moaning and gasping, writhing on the couch and breathing harshly. His hands were practically clinging to Castiel’s head, making his scalp burn with the way Dean was pulling at his hair, but the burn only made his own cock throb with the desperate need to be touched.

“Cas,” Dean groaned and grabbed Castiel’s head, forcing him to stop. Cock half way out of his mouth, he glared at Dean. Since he couldn’t verbally communicate his displeasure, he hoped his dark look translated it. Dean patted his head. “Let me fuck your mouth.”

_Oh_. Castiel hummed, eyelids falling slightly. He sucked Dean’s cock as he got a little bit more comfortable, bracing himself for it. He nodded as much as he could to signal the okay for Dean to do as he pleased, and Dean didn’t hesitate before he thrust. Castiel grunted and simply held on for the ride as Dean moved in and out of his mouth.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean hissed, hips pumping swiftly. “So good.”

He could feel saliva driping down his chin and spread across his cheeks. He must look like a wet mess, but he could tell that Dean loved it with the way his eyes remained locked on Castiel’s face. Dean’s expression was twisted in concentration, mouth open and gleaming chest heaving. Castiel loved the pleasure he was giving Dean, and he knew he could make it so much better for him. 

Dean was so focused on his thrusts that he didn’t even notice Castiel removing his hand from the base of his cock—not until he was pushing his cock right into Castiel’s throat. Dean made a strangled noise and quickly pulled out when Castiel gagged. Once his mouth was free, he coughed.

“Jesus,” Dean gasped, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“It’s okay,” Castiel rasped, coughing again. He grabbed Dean’s cock again. “Go ahead.”

“Cas—”

“Please.” He took Dean’s cock into his mouth again, taking him all the way. Maybe it was a mistake to surprise Dean the way he had, especially when he didn’t deep-throat nowadays, but he had done it often with Dean in the past and remembered how much they had enjoyed it. 

He took it slow this time, hoping it would deter his gag reflex from reacting, but when the tip of Dean’s cock tickled the back of his throat, he gagged. He pulled back, but that didn’t stop him from trying again.

Dean was so still, and it was obvious that he was struggling not to move in order to avoid hurting him. Castiel rubbed Dean’s right thigh in assurance as he relaxed his throat muscles. It helped a little, but he still ended up choking. 

“You don’t have to do it,” Dean said roughly. “It’s been a while—”

Castiel pinched his thigh, making him jump. Dean backed off, frowning at him but no longer protesting as Castiel tried again. And again. He wasn’t sure how many attempts it took, but he inwardly cheered when he finally managed to have Dean’s cockhead nudging the back of his throat. Dean shuddered, and his hands were back in Castiel’s hair, holding on tight. Castiel swallowed, muscles tightening around Dean’s cock. 

“I forgot how this feels,” Dean whispered in awe.

Castiel hummed, the vibrations in his throat making Dean groan. His head fell back and his hips undulated slightly, as if he couldn’t keep completely still. Castiel’s lips were pressed tight against Dean’s crotch and he loved it, mostly because of the way Dean looked. It was like he was experiencing nirvana or something, eyes wide and amazed. He wanted to keep that look on Dean’s face, so he swallowed again.

Hissing, Dean yanked Castiel’s head back. The abruptness of Dean’s cock sliding out had Castiel sputtering and coughing. He took deep breaths, not having realized just how restricted his breathing had been, and his throat felt a little sore. 

“Dean?” he questioned, that single word rough and hoarse. They were both enjoying it so he wasn’t sure why Dean had pulled out.

Dean was gripping the base of his cock tightly—too tightly, if the wince and pained grimace was anything to go by—and was breathing deeply with his eyes closed. Castiel was still trying to figure out what was going on when Dean’s eyes shot open and he abruptly leaned forward. He grabbed Castiel by the waist and hauled him off the floor, twisting midway so that Castiel landed on his back on the couch. Dean scooted back a little so that Castiel was stretched out fully, and once he was settled Dean crawled forward and hovered above him on all fours, knees sitting next to Castiel’s hips. “That little trick of yours nearly made me bust a nut,” Dean murmured, leaning down to steal a kiss. Castiel eagerly returned it. “Can’t come too soon, not until I’m inside you.”

Castiel bit his lip and lay passively as Dean knelt and removed his shirt completely, tossing it aside and leaving his upper body completely exposed to Castiel’s eyes. It was a wonderful view. Dean shuffled down until he could take in Castiel’s nudity, his gaze greedy and hungry. They trailed up and down Castiel’s body and it made Castiel’s cock twitch with the need for attention, but Dean continued to study him intently. Dean had done this numerous times before, stripping Castiel naked and staring at him for what felt like hours, seemingly content to waste time just looking at him. The first time Dean had done it, Castiel had been embarrassed and uncomfortable. 

Now, though, he reached over his head to grab at the cushioned arm of the couch. Getting a tight grip, he arched his back and brought his legs up, bending and spreading them so that Dean could have a better look at what he had to offer.

Dean’s gaze sharpened and his nostrils flared. He ran his hands up and down Castiel’s inner thighs, making him shiver. He realized that Dean still wore his jeans, hanging loose around his hips with his cock and balls exposed. Dean even had his boots on still. He thought about asking Dean to get naked, but there was something enticing about the erotic contrast of being nude while Dean was partially dressed. It had his toes curling.

“You have no shame, do you?” Dean muttered, reaching down to stroke his cock. It was wet from Castiel’s saliva, and he smiled at the filthy sight.

“Thanks to you,” he answered lowly. The only reason why he had the confidence to lie there and let Dean look his fill was because Dean had told him that he shouldn’t be embarrassed by his body. It was beautiful, Dean had said, and he had never stopped telling him that, not even when Castiel no longer needed the ego boost to lift his self-esteem. Dean made him feel sexy, and there was no shame in that. “Fuck me,” he begged.

“I will,” Dean assured him breathlessly, releasing his cock to grab Castiel’s instead. He stroked it once, and Castiel trembled as sparks of pleasure went off inside of him. “But I want to suck you first.” He leaned down. “You’re not the only one who wants to remember the taste of a delicious cock.”

Dean wasted no time in going down on him. Castiel bucked at the warmth and heat that surrounded his erection. Even better, Dean bypassed any kind of teasing in favor of taking him all the way to the root, the same way Castiel had done to him just minutes earlier. Castiel let out a loud sharp cry as Dean swallowed around his cock. He buried his face into the side of his arm. If he so much as peeked at the scene of his entire dick in Dean’s mouth, he would fall apart and come, and he didn’t want to come yet. He wanted Dean inside of him before he did that. 

Dean lifted up slightly and began to bob his head, sucking hard whenever he reached Castiel’s head, then moving down until he took Castiel completely into his mouth again. Castiel couldn’t help the movement of his hips, nor could he help the sounds that escaped him. Dean’s actions were unpredictable; there was no steady rhythm to how he blew him. He sucked, he licked, and swallowed at different intervals. It kept Castiel off-guard and not knowing what to expect, especially when Dean started rubbing his perineum and fondling his sac.

His body jolted when a finger prodded his hole, and when Dean abruptly let his cock go Castiel jerked his head forward and found Dean grabbing the lube bottle Castiel had brought down. He popped the top open and poured a generous amount on his fingers. Castiel drew his bottom lip beneath his upper teeth when Dean’s hand disappeared between his legs and he caught his breath when his hole was prodded again. Dean rubbed and massaged his outer muscles, coaxing it to relax and loosen for entry.

Castiel sighed and let his head fall back, spreading his legs even more. He arched and inhaled sharply when Dean’s finger nudged and slid a little inside of him. “Oh, God,” he groaned, his dick twitching and his anus fluttering around the slick intruder. 

“Jesus, you’re tight,” Dean said, tone colored with amazement. His finger slid in further, and Castiel squirmed. “You’re _really_ tight.” His finger went in all the way, and the heat that had pooled in Castiel’s belly intensified. “I thought—”

Castiel knew what Dean thought—being happily married as Castiel had claimed he was would lead anyone to think that he’d be loose from what should have been a healthy sex life—but he didn’t even want to think about it, let alone talk about it. He didn’t let Dean finish that sentence. “Another finger,” he demanded.

“Not yet,” Dean murmured, moving his digit in and out.

Castiel’s breath hitched, feeling it rub against his insides. As good as it felt, it wasn’t enough. “Dean—”

“Hush, angel. I’ve missed you. Let me enjoy this.”

Castiel groaned unhappily and tossed his head back, enduring the torment of having only one of Dean’s fingers inside of him. He let it go on for several minutes, but his body began to tremble with the desire for more. That lone digit was not enough for the hunger growing inside of him. He finally burst out, “Dean!”

“All right, all right,” Dean said, laughter in his voice as he finally gave Castiel what he wanted. He gasped when two fingers entered him this time, and just those two fingers alone was enough to make the stretch actually burn. It was a pleasant burn, though. Dean was being so careful, his movements slow and steady at first before he sped up slightly. He spread his fingers, stretching his hole.

“Fuck, Dean,” he moaned. Dean wiggled his fingers, and they began to twist left and right as Dean rotated his wrist. It felt wonderful as they moved inside of him, especially when a third finger was unexpectedly added without Castiel begging for it, but it wasn’t until Dean found his prostate and pressed against it did Castiel toss his head back and release a loud shout. “There!” he cried out.

Making a triumphant sound, Dean focused on that spot, thrusting as hard and deep as his fingers could. “Still remember where it is,” he observed smugly, which was a direct contrast to the gasping, writhing mess Castiel had turned into. Sweat had broken out all over his body and if he wasn’t so overcome by the acute pleasure of his prostate being stimulated, he would have cared more about how his back was starting to stick to the leather of the couch. He pumped his hips to meet Dean’s fingers and he frantically reached down to grab at his cock, stroking it. The dual sensations made stars dance behind his eyelids, the pleasure too intense for him to even keep his eyes open. 

“Dean,” he garbled out, too wound up to care how he sounded. His body grew taut, and he felt that spark at the base of his spine that signaled an impending orgasm. It was fast approaching, and he chased after it, completely forgetting his prior wish to wait until Dean was inside of him. He wanted to come _now_. “Don’t stop,” he gasped, stroking his cock faster. “Don’t—” Dean pushed his hand away, simultaneously removing his fingers from Castiel’s body. “No!” he practically sobbed as all stimulation stopped. 

He snapped his eyes open and his hand shot towards his crotch, but Dean clamped a hand around his wrist, preventing him from touching his swollen and aching erection that wept for one or two more strokes. It curved over his belly, skin more purple than red, and just seconds away from spilling. He tried to touch it with his other hand, but Dean grabbed that one, too.

He glared at Dean. “Why did you stop?” he demanded rudely, trying to yank his wrists away from Dean’s strong grip.

“Because you’re going to come when I’m inside of you,” Dean said with a stern look. It wasn’t as effective when his cheeks were flushed and his hairline was damp with sweat, making it gleam black. Even he looked a little desperate and Castiel took a bit of comfort in that.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Impatient, Castiel grabbed the lube Dean had tossed aside and spilled it over Dean’s dick. He rubbed it roughly, which made Dean flinch. “Put it in me,” he ordered. Next time he would tease Dean when lubing him up, but not now. Definitely not now.

Dean laughed, the sound broken and a little hysterical. “Such a needy thing,” Dean mocked. Castiel wasn’t surprised that Dean still had some wisp of control. Castiel had lost his control a while ago, but he had always been the first to fall apart. Dean slapped Castiel’s outer thigh. “On your knees, baby.” Castiel scrambled onto his knees, placing his elbows on the couch arm and arching just a bit to present his ass. He let out a startled and pleased sound when Dean slapped his left buttock as well. It stung, and his dick twitched where it bounced between his legs. “Still a kinky little shit.”

Even though he was frustrated with Dean’s teasing, he couldn’t help but smile at that comment. He gave Dean a smoldering glance over his shoulder. “I’m kinky because of you.”

Dean looked delighted by that admission. “Then I did a fine job, didn’t I?” Another spank before Dean grabbed both his cheeks and pulled them apart. “I miss how you taste here, but if I know you, you’ll come while I rim you. I want you to come on my cock.”

“Next time,” Castiel said breathlessly, pushing his ass back, silently asking Dean to get on with it. He had run out of patience a long time ago, and if Dean didn’t start fucking him soon he would just finish himself off while Dean watched. 

Dean stilled behind him for a second. “Next time,” Dean repeated, and within moments a wet head pressed against his hole. Castiel released one long deep groan when Dean began to push. His rim spread to accommodate the head, and he dug his fingers into the couch arm as he focused on keeping his muscles loose and relaxed to help ease the very much welcomed invasion. It still ended up burning, because no matter how much Dean had prepared him, his cock was still bigger than three of his fingers.

“I forgot how thick you are,” Castiel groaned as the head of Dean’s cock popped inside. The burn eased slightly now that they got past the widest part, and he felt his rim fluttering around the head.

Dean chuckled, the sound strained. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said shakily. His hands gripped Castiel’s hips and he resumed moving forward, stopping only a moment here and there. The pressure was kept at a steady pace, but it caused enough delicious friction to have Castiel trembling. His cock was so hard and he desperately wanted to reach down and grab it, to give it a few good strokes to accompany the cock sinking deeper inside of him, but he knew if he did he would end up losing his balance, and he was barely staying up on his hands as it was. His mind was swimming with arousal and lust, his entire focus narrowed down to that point of connection created between Dean and himself.

When Dean’s cock was finally all the way in, Castiel released one long shuddering sigh. Dean’s hips were pressed tightly against him, balls lightly tapping his ass, and his thighs touching his own. As anxious as he was to have Dean’s cock in his ass and as desperate as he was to orgasm, he took a moment to simply appreciate Dean’s dick filling him beautifully. Castiel savored the feel of having Dean inside of him again after so many years without it. He hadn’t even realized how much he had settled for until now, and it wasn’t even just the physical aspect of it. It was Dean himself and the connection they shared. Just having Dean inside of him heightened that bond between them, made it deeper and sharper, because this felt _right_. It felt like he was made for Dean and Dean was made for him. Like they were one.

He clenched his ass around Dean, growing tight around him to enhance the sensations, and he heard Dean gasp. He also noticed that Dean was shaking violently against him. “Dean?” he croaked. “Are you—?”

“Good,” Dean said in a strangled voice. “I’m good.” He huffed out a broken laugh. “Jesus, angel, you have no idea how much I missed this. You feel so fucking—I can’t even describe it.” Dean inhaled deeply. “Please tell me I can move, baby, because I don’t think I can handle staying like this without moving for another second.”

Realizing that Dean’s tremors was because he was trying to hold back for Castiel’s sake, Castiel murmured an apology and shifted a bit, angling his body so that his ass was in a better position. “Go,” he said.

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. Flexing his fingers on Castiel’s hips, he pulled back, cock sliding out and creating extraordinary friction that had Castiel moaning. When just the tip of his cock was inside, Dean slowly thrust back in. It made both men groan, and Castiel gasped sharply when Dean’s cock brushed his prostate. It was brief, however, because Dean instantly pulled out and plunged right back in again, and again, thrusts even and slow—at first. 

Steadily, his pace increased with each shove of his cock, until his hips were snapping forward, the rhythm changing from slow and easy to rough and fast. Castiel’s body jolted forward, knees rubbing where they rested on the couch. His hands were digging into the couch arm, and when Dean shifted slightly on his next thrust, a strangled scream was wrenched out of Castiel’s mouth. Dean’s cock was no longer just brushing his prostate with every other thrust; he was now hitting it directly.

“Next time I’ll go slow,” Dean promised in between grunts. “But I can’t now.”

Even if he wanted to, Castiel couldn’t answer. He was too busy reveling in the electrified sparks that struck him each time Dean hit his prostate. His body sang in exuberance, and he felt so alive in a way he hadn’t felt in years, because this wasn’t love-making. This was something more raw and real, two men who wanted each other so much that they were too impatient for anything other than fucking. Everything was exposed for the other to see, hear, and feel. Castiel could sense Dean’s desperation in the way he rammed into him sharply, could hear his pleasure in the bitten off curses that he couldn’t hold back, and the way he tightened his grip on Castiel’s hips, having lost his ability to think clearly enough to treat Castiel gently. There was no feeling in the world like knowing that he was the reason why Dean lost control.

His own erection was throbbing so much that it was almost painful. The poor neglected thing bounced and smacked his belly with each of Dean’s thrusts. His body was on fire, aching to come, and he helplessly wondered if this would be one of the rare times when he would come untouched. It had only happened thrice before and only with Dean.

He threw his head back at a particularly harsh thrust, and in the process his eyes landed on a photo that was sitting on the side table in front of him. At first, he was so consumed with being fucked that he was just blindly staring at it, brain not registering what he was seeing. But once it registered what photo he was staring at, he realized he was looking at a wedding picture. _His_ wedding photo. Balthazar was staring right at him with a big smile, arm wrapped around an equally smiling man who was currently being screwed on the couch by someone else. His inner voice tried to speak up, but Dean was bruising his hips and biting at his nape and shoulder blades, and Castiel was enjoying it too much to allow anything to mess it up.

Dean’s hips jerked back, and Castiel quickly swiped at the picture to knock it off the table. It went flying to the floor and Castiel faintly heard glass shatter. He didn’t care, though, and he forgot all about it when Dean’s hips snapped forward again, almost causing him to lose his balance. He quickly placed his hand back down, bowing his head and shoving back to meet Dean’s thrusts.

Abruptly, Dean bit him viciously on the shoulder, claiming him like an animal would claim another, and Castiel cried out. He was surprised by the action as well as the unexpected pain that came with it, and he wondered if Dean drew blood. The idea didn’t disgust him; it only added to the heat burning in his body and made more pre-come spill from his cock.

And he really wanted to touch his cock. He attempted to reach for it, only to nearly topple forward when Dean slammed into him. He quickly put his hand back down, and he moaned in frustration. He was desperate to come, and he couldn’t neglect his cock much longer before the delicious throbbing became more painful than pleasurable. “Dean,” he whined, and he was too far gone to say any more than that. 

Dean seemed to sense what he wanted, because he licked at the bite he left behind and said, “I know what you need, baby. I got you.” 

An arm slid around his waist, and he was abruptly pulled upright. He made a strangled noise when the new position forced him down on Dean’s cock, making it go deeper than before. Dean was pressed tightly against his back, lips now in range to nuzzle at the side of Castiel’s throat, and he swiveled his hips and bucked into him. The new position didn’t allow Dean to do much more than that, but it was still so fucking amazing because Castiel’s prostate was nudged with every movement and—even better—it allowed Dean to easily reach around with his other hand and grab his erection.

He tossed his head back, landing on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean,” he whispered, eyes squeezed shut. He blindly reached up and back until he found Dean’s head, and he clutched at the short strands of wet hair that his fingers found. Dean jerked him off hard and fast, exactly what Castiel needed. “Don’t—stop,” he managed to say brokenly, a sharp, hot point of acute pressure building inside of him. “I’m coming,” he gasped, writhing as best he could so Dean’s dick continued to hit his prostate. “I’m come— _Fuck._ ”

The pressure exploded, making his whole body jerk and jolt with the intensity of it. His muscles seized and his inner walls clamped tight around the rigid length still pumping inside of him, orgasm bursting out in streams of semen that spilled all over the couch. He barely heard anything through the white noise ringing in his ears, all his senses focused on the agonizing satisfaction of his climax as Dean stroked him through it.

It could’ve been seconds or minutes or maybe even hours, but when his cock was done spurting and his orgasm died down, Castiel came back to himself with shuddering breaths. He didn’t move for a while, though, feeling weak and empty. His head still rested on Dean’s shoulder and his cock twitched from the strokes Dean was still giving him, albeit slower and gentler now that he had achieved his orgasm. His entire body tingled from the top of his head down to the tip of his curled toes. 

Eventually, his softening cock became too sensitive for Dean’s gentle touches, and he hissed and winced. He had to grab Dean’s wrist to stop him, opening his eyes and blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“Too much?” Dean whispered. 

Castiel let his head fall back on Dean’s shoulder again, releasing his wrist. “Yeah,” he murmured with a happy sigh, only to frown a moment later when he realized that Dean was still hard. He wiggled and Dean groaned, hands pressing against Castiel’s stomach in an attempt to keep him still. Dean had to be desperate, but he had obviously forgone his own pursuit for orgasm so Castiel could reach his peak. He was denying himself even now so Castiel could enjoy the afterglow without interruption. 

As limp as he was, the desire to have Dean come as well—to feel him come inside him—gave him the strength to grab Dean’s buttock, keeping him locked inside. He carefully bent forward in the position he had been in earlier and patted Dean’s butt. 

“Fuck me, Dean,” he whispered. “Come in me.” He moved forward a little and pushed back, giving Dean just a tiny bit of friction to encourage him to start thrusting.

Dean swore underneath his breath and pulled out completely, which was not what Castiel wanted. He looked over his shoulder to stare at Dean in confusion. “What are you—?”

His question was cut off when Dean seized him and abruptly turned him around, back landing on the couch. He grunted at the soft impact, eyes widening in surprise. Dean yanked his legs apart and Castiel only had a glimpse of Dean’s plump cock before it was thrust right back in. Castiel gasped and arched his back.

“I need to see your face,” Dean said breathlessly, not wasting a single second before he started pounding away, thrusting fiercely like a man possessed. There was a noticeable difference in the way Dean fucked him now that he didn’t have to worry about Castiel’s satisfaction. The way he slammed into Castiel was a little more erratic, a little more frantic, and Dean’s cock rarely touched Castiel’s prostate. It was all about Dean’s pleasure, and Castiel was more than happy to let him use his body. He wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist and placed his hands on Dean’s back before sliding them down his sweaty skin to grasp Dean’s tight ass. He tightened his own ass to provide Dean with a tighter channel, and the intended effect was immediate, if Dean’s sharp gasp and the slight stutter of his hips was anything to go by.

Castiel watched Dean’s face twist, skin ruddy and moist, teeth bared in a slight snarl. He looked absolutely gorgeous and it made his cock stir, arousal running through him once more, but he ignored it in favor of concentrating on Dean. “Give it to me,” he whispered, leaning up to give Dean a kiss. “Do it, Dean. Come for me. Please.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, thrusting in one more time before he stilled, body shaking and his face twisting into a painful grimace, sounds escaping through clenched teeth. Castiel could feel the warm wetness splashing his insides and he sighed, taking in the stunning image Dean was making above him. It would stay in his mind for the rest of his life, because if there was anything more beautiful than Dean’s face when he was fucking him, it was when he was in the throes of orgasm.

When he was finished, Dean fell forward, landing on Castiel with his face tucked into his neck. Castiel chuckled and moved his hands from Dean’s ass, wrapping one arm around Dean’s shoulders and cradling the back of his head, soothing him with soft words while he came down from his sex-infused high. He untangled his legs to cradle his lover better and allowed him this brief respite despite how heavy he was. At least Dean had fallen a bit to the side, thereby making breathing not a terribly big issue. 

They were quiet for several minutes, rapid breaths slowing down and pounding hearts returning to steady beats. Dean’s cock softened, and when Dean shifted it slid out. Castiel’s rim was stretched out and sore, semen that had been trapped inside dripping out, and he felt empty without Dean’s cock filling it. The ache was pleasant, though, and he smiled, knowing that it would last for days. 

What wasn’t pleasant, however, was the growing sensation of something wet and sticky against his back.

He blinked at the ceiling. “I’m lying on my own come,” he said, suddenly realizing what was making him uncomfortable.

Dean laughed into his throat and lifted his head. “Now that’s not something you hear every day.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel nudged at the man on top of him. “Move. You’re getting heavy.”

“All right, all right.” Dean climbed off and got onto his feet next to the couch, wobbling a bit. Castiel took in his soft cock, glistening with lube and come. He licked his lips, wanting to taste it again. Dean chuckled, stripping off the rest of his clothes until he was nude. “Give me at least ten minutes before you touch my cock, okay?”

Castiel glowered at him, but Dean ignored him. He picked up the blanket Castiel had dropped on the floor. “What are you doing?” he asked, pushing up on one elbow.

Dean padded over to the area in front of the fireplace and tossed the blanket on the ground. He turned to Castiel and lifted a hand up, wiggling his fingers. “Come over here.”

Seeing what Dean was planning, he threw his legs over the side of the couch and considered the lone blanket on the wooden floorboards. “If you’re thinking of sitting in front of the fire,” he said as he stood up, “we’re going to need a few more blankets.”

He left the living room and went upstairs. He reached the storage closet at the top of the stairs and opened it, digging out several blankets and a couple of pillows. Hauling his cargo downstairs, he returned to the living room and discovered Dean shamelessly wiping at his genitals with a washcloth. He dropped the bedding on the floor and began to assemble it into a makeshift bed that would provide enough padding between their bodies and the hard floor. He flinched when he felt something cold wiping down his back. “You couldn’t have waited until I was finished?”

“Your back is right there.” Dean moved the washcloth to Castiel’s bottom, pushing it between his cheeks to reach his hole. “Might as well take care of it now.”

Castiel muttered at Dean’s idiotic logic and finished setting up the blankets and pillows. He settled down on top of them, facing the fire while Dean tossed aside the washcloth and sat behind him, legs on either side of Castiel. Grabbing another thick blanket, Dean draped it over his shoulders and wrapped it around them both, Dean’s arms surrounding him in the process.

Castiel sighed contently and leaned back against Dean’s chest, snuggling into the warmth behind him. It was so domestic, and this was the kind of thing Castiel had only dreamed about. They had gone through so much, and to be able to sit in front of a fire with Dean holding him was an absolute miracle that Castiel could never regret.

As content as he was, though, his bubble of happiness soon deflated in the face of reality. Now that the haze of arousal was gone, it left him room to think things he didn’t want to think about. He glanced over to where the picture frame lay on the floor, and he could see small shards of glass glistening on the floor. He hadn’t cared about breaking the frame that held such a momentous image, and he didn’t want to leave Dean’s arms to pick it up now. That said a lot about the state of his marriage.

He rubbed his feet against Dean’s shins. “What do we do now?” 

Dean seemed to understand what he was asking. “I guess that’s up to you.” He brushed a kiss against Castiel’s shoulder. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

Castiel slid his eyes shut, tilting his head and exposing the side of his throat. Dean took advantage of the offered skin and commenced nipping and sucking. “Is it considered cheating if Balthazar and I are separated?”

“No clue,” Dean murmured against his skin. “You guys came up with any ground rules?”

“I don’t think there are ground rules during separations.” Castiel frowned. “We didn’t discuss anything. He just said that he needed time away from me and left.” 

“And what do you want out of this separation?”

Castiel considered the question. There were a lot of things he wanted. He wanted Balthazar to forgive him. He wanted to go back into the past and take the time to actually figure out if he really should marry Balthazar or wait a little longer. He wanted his life to be simpler and not complicated. So yes, there were a lot of things he wanted that he couldn’t have, either because it was too late to change the past or because it was out of his hands completely, but there was one he knew for sure he wanted.

“You won’t become my dirty little secret,” he said firmly, staring into the roaring flames of the fire. “You don’t deserve that.” Castiel slid down a little so he could look up at Dean. Green eyes looked down at him softly. “It took a lot of courage for me to give you those letters. I knew exactly what I was doing and why I was doing it. I knew one possible outcome and was ready for it.” He reached up and brushed a finger against Dean’s cheek. “I was hoping for it, honestly,” he confessed.

Dean nipped at the tip of Castiel’s finger when he gently ran it across his lips. “When I got to work and Bobby handed me that box, you know what he said to me?” Castiel shook his head and Dean’s lips quirked. “He said that you and I better damn well fix what we broke, because you had the same mopey pitiful look in your eyes like I had in mine.”

Castiel blinked, and then laughed. “He said that, did he?”

“That’s Bobby for you. He isn’t one to mince words.” Dean kissed Castiel’s forehead. “You have no idea how miserable I was these past few weeks. I could never get you out of my head no matter how hard I tried, and it was starting to affect my work. Bobby told me to take a vacation and get my head on straight before I fuck up a car.”

“Bobby said you took a week off. Where did you go?” Dean hesitance and the flicker of discomfort on his face was enough for Castiel to make an assumption he really didn’t like. “You went away with Lisa, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted and he looked away, eyes flickering again. He looked guilty, and Castiel was suddenly afraid that reminding him of Lisa was making Dean regret what they just did.

Castiel swallowed thickly. “Was this a mistake?” he asked nervously, because what if this had been a moment of weakness on Dean’s part? What if now that he was no longer distracted by hormones and remembered his girlfriend, he decided to leave Castiel? “I know I just turned you into a cheater—”

“You didn’t turn me into anything,” Dean interrupted with a scowl. “I decided to come here knowing what might happen, and like I said, I ain’t going nowhere.” Dean watched him steadily. “I told you, I couldn’t get you out of my head. God knows I tried when I was with Lisa, but I wasn’t very good at acting like Lisa was the one I wanted to be with. I had to move on, though, and she was available. If I couldn’t have you, she was the only other person I thought I could have a future with. I thought that maybe with time, I’ll be able to look at her and not think about you.” Dean kissed his forehead. “But why settle for anyone else when I have the chance to be with the one I really want?”

“I’m a mess, Dean,” Castiel whispered. “I don’t even think I’m a good person. Look at what I put you and Balthazar through. Three long years to figure out that I made some stupid mistakes.”

“Like I’m any better.” Dean smiled slightly. “You said I don’t deserve to be your dirty little secret, and there are a lot of things I probably don’t deserve—good and bad—but if there’s one thing I know I do deserve, it’s you. In the two years I had you, I felt human again. I wasn’t a convict who murdered someone or an inmate with a bad reputation. I was just Dean Winchester, and I hadn’t felt like that in a long time. I’m not willing to let that go without a fight.”

And Castiel could see he meant it. It glowed in his eyes, that determined glint and that fierce single focus that said he was ready to throw down and shove aside anything and anyone who stood in his way. Castiel felt almost unworthy of it as he realized just how devoted Dean had been to him. Despite three years of no communication, Dean had come back into his life because Castiel was special enough to find, to try to be friends with, and now he was special enough to fight for. 

He leaned up and kissed him, dislodging the blanket a little. When he pulled back, he said, “I don’t think you have to fight for something you’ve always had.”

Dean nuzzled his cheek. “I might need a little reassurance from time to time, angel.”

Castiel nodded. He would tell Dean every day that he loved him if that was what it took to make Dean trust Castiel not to leave him.

Castiel settled back against Dean’s chest, and as he was doing so Dean’s arm caught his attention. Specifically, a certain tattoo. Right along his forearm and next to a tattoo of a Chevy Impala was his name spelled out in Enochian. Castiel remembered how elated he had felt when Dean showed him the tattoo two months before Castiel was told of his exoneration. Dean said that he had scoured through countless of books in the prison library and asked Bobby and Sam for any research material about the angelic language so he could figure out how to spell out Castiel’s name in Enochian. Castiel had assumed that getting it in a different language was Dean’s way of avoiding any pesky questions about why he got another man’s name on his skin.

It hadn’t been that at all, though. “You’re my angel,” Dean had said, “only seems right that I get your name down in the angelic language, don’t you think?”

Maybe, just maybe, that was the moment Castiel should have realized that Dean was the one for him.

“You know,” he said lightly, tracing the letters, “I’ve been told that people shouldn’t get tattoos of their lover’s name.”

“And what do you say to that?”

Castiel straightened away and turned around to face Dean. The blanket fell off their shoulders and pooled around Dean’s waist while Castiel straddled Dean. He grabbed one of Dean’s hands. “I think your name would look good right here.” He placed Dean’s hand on his chest, right over his heart.

Dean stared at where his hand was pressed. “I think so, too,” he said hoarsely,

Castiel leaned forward and touched their foreheads together. “Christmas is next week,” he murmured. “I don’t want to spend it alone.”

Dean kissed him slowly and deeply. “Want to spend it with me at my place?”

“Yeah.” Castiel smiled against Dean’s lips, feeling the way Dean returned the smile with one of his own. “I really do.”

_End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See how this story is part of a series now?? While I have no plans for a sequel, what I do have are two epilogues (in Balthazar's and Dean's POV) that have already been sent to my beta. They'll be posted as separate stories, so look out for them!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism is very much appreciated.


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